Scars We Share
by Ididntdoit07
Summary: When the Joker is in need of help one night, he relies on a certain billionaire for support not knowing Gotham will never be the same again. Through loss, scars, and death the two find they need eachother more than previously thought. mpreg slash death
1. The Game Begins

**Scars We Share**

hi guys, Ididntdoit07 here! I know most of you are awaiting Moonstruck. It's coming up in the next few days, so sorry for the wait! New readers, go check out that story too. Anyways this is a Batman Begins/Dark Knight fiction and well... yeah.

**Warning/Disclaimer: I dont own anything, and there is mpreg in this story. But only the first half. If you dont like it, don't read it. Slash eventually. Maybe.**

* * *

A man runs through the high towers of Gotham City, panting as he does so. With his arms wrapped around himself, blood drips from his hands and leaves a spotted trail on the concrete under his feet. He pushes through a couple leaving from a late night movie. It is past midnight and he is surprised to find anyone out at the hour besides himself. He turns back to assure himself it is not anyone he knows and continues to run.

Sirens go off in the distance, and it is his cue to find somewhere to hide.

He whips his head off to check for helicopters. None—a good sign.

For the Joker, these kinds of nights were what he lived for, but not today.

The grease paint is melting from his sweat with his hair plastered to his face. Teeth clenched, he knows he has to find somewhere to hide before it's too late. He has been running for about an hour now as his previous home had been vacated rather suddenly.

A warm liquid trickles down his legs and he can tell the bleeding is getting worse. He curses to himself and dashes in between cars and trees as he exits the central park in the city. Flashing blue and red lights enter his peripheral and hurries along.

He finds an alley way to hide in right as a police cruiser passes by with its lights on strobe. He leans against the cool wall, taking a break from his run.

His bloody hand rustles in his coat pocket, searching for his cell phone. "Come on…" he whispers to himself, and once located, he instantly dials in the first number coming to his mind.

Raising it to his ear, he tries to catch his breath and coughs in the process. The ringing relaxes his body. "Pick up, you son of a bitch."

It rings four more times until a familiar, husky voice picks up.

"_Hello?"_

"Bats…" The Joker pants out. "Wh…"

But the voice cuts him off. _"Joker? How did you get this number?"_

"A friend of a friend of a friend's cousin's fiancé." His answer, dripping with sarcasm. "Listen. I need a ride."

"_What?"_

"You heard me… Come and get me. Now would be good."

"_Why…"_

"Because I need to go to the grocery store at 2 in the morning. Bats, I don't care what you're doing. Just come get me and you can do whatever you want with me after."

"Why would I help you?" Bruce Wayne stands from his comfy bed, pulling on a coat with questions as to why the Joker would be calling him at the early hours.

"I'll tip you."

"_I'm not your taxi driver, much less a helping hand."_

The clown ducks behind a dumpster as another cruiser passes the alley way and growls into the phone. "I'm at the intersection of 5th Avenue and Ponce. I ju-" He is cut off by his own sharp groan of pain that surprises both himself and the Batman.

The sarcastic, slurred tone leaves the Joker's voice as he begs into the phone, "Bats, please…"

Connection is lost, leaving Bruce Wayne in shock.

* * *

The Joker cannot recall how many times he has looked at his phone for the time since he had called the Batman. All he hoped for was that the stubborn billionaire was actually coming. Ten minutes… fifteen minutes…. Twenty five minutes…

He sits, curled over with his arms and head resting on his knees as the pain worsens. He bites his forearm to create a distracting pain from a different part in his body.

He lifts his head and then sees the black tumbler parked beside the alleyway.

"No way…" He remarks, relieved to see his savior.

The Caped Crusader exits the ride in full uniform, striding angrily towards the clown.

The Joker struggles to his feet, unaware that his human face is showing.

_I… I never imagined how different the Joker would look without his makeup. I wouldn't even guess it was him if he wasn't wearing the purple coat._

"You… you could have gotten here faster."

"Sorry, rush hour is always a bitch at these hours."

He smiles at the Batman's wit, but it quickly fades as a new pain overwhelms him and he collapses, holding his belly. He lets out a small cry, tears flooding his eyes. The billionaire then realizes the Joker is hurt and in need of assistance.

Pushing his hatred for the man aside, he grabs the man's arm and yanks him forward towards the tumbler. "Get in."

He does as he is told and the vigilante gets into the driver's seat. The vehicle roars to life and bursts forward. "Okay talk."

"About what?" The clown is transfixed on the entire tumbler, staring at every detail and gadget in the thing.

"Why I'm helping you and where you want to go."

The Joker sighs as the pain subsides as if it had never happened. "Just get me somewhere safe, I don't care if it's a fucking motel. Anywhere."

"And the other question."

"Because I got myself into some trouble and am dealing with the consequences now."

"So that's why you're hurt."

The Joker turns to him, normal voice coming back. "I'm not hurt. I'm just… bleeding."

"Bleeding doesn't make people scream."

"I didn't scream."

"You fell."

"Because I was caught off guard."

Bruce sighs, his growl fading. "Okay. Why are you bleeding?"

"No."

"No?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets."

"Okay, you were shot." He assumes.

"Yes, and… no."

"Why all the 'no's?"

"I'm bleeding, not because of the bullet wound."

"Last time I checked, being shot makes anyone bleed."

The menace ignores the statement and fixes himself, exhaling heavily. Sweat beads on his skin and runs his ungloved palms over his abdomen. The Batman looks out of the corner of his eye and notices…

"You gained weight."

"Thanks for noticing."

In his middle is a perfect curved protrusion, poking through the sides of his large coat. He rubs around it in circles, trying to soothe the pain. Bruce looks over once again, seeing the Joker in a vulnerable state. With his eyes closed, he hums, never removing his hands from his stomach. The scars on either side of his face are revealed—the grease paint is completely gone, with the exception of dark rings under his eyes.

"Stop looking at me, its freaking me out."

The Bat does not apologize, but grunts and turns back to the road. He does not want to admit it, but he is concerned about the man in the passenger's seat. Without the makeup, the Joker is a completely different individual. He is human.

His breathing accelerates and he wheezes out, "Drive faster…" before hunching over his belly and crying out in pain.

He shifts the controls and the tumbler bursts forward, leaving a trail of ash behind the motors. _I don't know where else I could take him…. Alfred better be in a listening mood._

"Tell me, now. What's going on?"

The Joker's piercing gaze reaches the billionaire's eye, and snarls. "It's called bleeding out, Bats."

_That's what I don't get, Joker. Why are you bleeding out?_

"You'll find out pretty soon, at this rate." He grunts out and begins to pant again. His attention goes to the black gloved hand on the controls. "Do you need both hands?"

"No… wh—Hey!" He protests as the Joker snatches the Batman's right hand…

And rests it on his round stomach.

His heart stops at the familiar feeling, and something _moves _beneath his palm. "You're…"

"I'm not going to say it because it's too embarrassing, but yes."

Bruce Wayne quickly takes back his hand, too freaked out to not pay attention to the road. "How… how long?"

"Gee, I don't know. Nine months?"

"That's not even…"

"Possible?" The Joker suggests, "Yeah, I dealt with the whole denial thing too until it started doing this to me. And guess what? You're the lucky contender to deal with me while in labor!"

The billionaire's heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. "What…"

"So, get me somewhere fast, because I really don't want to have it on the street or in here, Brucie."

_Bruce? Did he really just call me…?_

"How long have you known."

The Joker shifts his position to face the billionaire behind the mask. "I've known for a long time now. It just wouldn't be fun anymore if I told anyone."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"If I had told anyone, you would know by now."

_He has a point._

His face twists up and he clenches his teeth as another contraction rages through his frame and something drops, and gives…

* * *

"Alfred! Alfred, I need your help now!"

The Butler wakes up from a quick nap he had caught on the couch and rubs the sleep from his eyes at the call of his name. "Alfred!" His young master's voice sounds urgent and he scrambles to his feet in search of the voice.

He runs to the kitchen where his heart stops.

There is his young master, face mask torn off holding a figure in the dark. Dark blood coats the tiles on the floor and his heart sinks. "Oh my… what happened to you?"

"It's not me, it's him."

Alfred stares at the scars upon the Joker's face. "He needs help, Alfred. You're the only one I know that could possibly help."

The Joker stirs and whines out, "No… I'm doing this alone.."

"You're insane."

"So I'm told…" He trails off and his face scrunches up as another contraction rips through his body.

"He's in labor, Alfred. He needs help…"

"Labor? Oh... oh, my lord."

Bruce pushed through the shocked butlet and finally found an empty bedroom, lying the Joker on the sheets. "Wh… what all do you need?"

"Hot water… towels… string, ah… and vodka. Lots of it."

The Joker sits up and removes his heavy trench coat, throwing it on the floor, followed by his vest. He kicks off his shoes and lies on his back, shutting his eyes. The situation has yet to register in his mind and thoughts of being inside Bruce Wayne's home, being helped by his arch enemy, was enough for his mind to take.

He was delivered the supplies as listed, and thanked the two for their help.

"Don't help me."

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Bruce was taken aback and sighs. "Call Alfred if you need help."

Joker locks the door after him and rubs his mound of a belly. He sighs to himself, somewhat wishing he did have help. Blood dripped all over the floor, down his legs. Taking a deep breath, he moves back to the bed, spreading a protective sheet over the comforter to avoid stains.

He snatches up the bottle of vodka, and stares at its contents. _Yeah, like a shot of vodka is going to get me drunk. _He unscrews the cap and chugs it right from the bottle…

It smashes to the floor and a warm liquid seeps through his clothes below his waist. He yelps out loud and braces a hand against the bed frame with another on his belly.

He pulls himself onto the bed, and wiggles his wet trousers off, tossing them to the floor. The Joker wraps his fingers around the iron head board, takes a deep breath, and pushes….

* * *

Bruce Wayne washes the last bit of blood off of his hands in the kitchen sink, shocked by the events of the past hour. The Joker was pregnant? That's impossible.

He looks at the clock hanging above his head. It had been two hours since he arrived at the penthouse with his arch enemy and it was strange to not hear one sound. If the babe was born and cried, did he just not hear it?

It is too quiet for Bruce's tastes and he strides upstairs to check on the Joker. He pauses halfway, listening contently to the staccato banging coming from the guest room. His heart sinks and he sprints up the rest of the steps and kicks open the door.

The smell of blood is almost too much for him and he gags, instantly covering his nose in his sleeve. The billionaire gazes around the room…

The Joker is nowhere to be seen but the bed clearly shows he had paid a full visit to the penthouse. Its covers and sheets are torn off leaving a bare mattress and a leather belt is tied around the iron head rest as leverage. He looks to the right where the bathroom door is open and spots of blood reflect on the tiles.

He strides into the bathroom and sees the bloody sheets lying in a bathtub of cold water. He counts the untouched, white towels lying on top of the toilet and counts them. One is missing.

BAM.

Bruce whips his head up and goes back into the bedroom, staring straight at the window… which is flapping open and closed from the wind.

The Joker is gone.

* * *

Well thats it for the first chapter, the second is coming up once Moonstruck is updated as well. Writer's block is a bitch, is it not? Didn't help that my computer crashed either. Eek. Tell me if you like it, love it, hate it, etc. and what needs to be improved. I'm not forcing anyone to read this.

-Ididntdoit07


	2. Hinder and Blood

Hi guys, Ididntdoit07 here again! I've come to answer some questions in a non-revealing way, because does not like that as I've learned before. So to answer a few things, this is a mystery type fiction but it's not like Sherlock Holmes. Things will be revealed as we go on, that's why the first chapter was so intense and fast and why you're asking "What just happened?" just as Bruce is.

In this fiction, you're like Bruce, not knowing a thing about it all and having it all thrown at you as you try to figure out what happened to the Joker and why he kept his kid, who the daddy is, and what all has happened. This won't be a very long fiction, probably around 5 chapters long but I hope to get a lot done in that and keep my Moonstruck readers entertained as it takes longer to update that cause it is so long. Yeah, there is a little OOC but imagine if this actually happened and how they would react.

You probably wouldn't know what to do either. xD This is a very depressing fiction, be warned. Bring tissues if you want in later chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. No really, I don't.  
Warning: Mention of Mpreg, slash, violence, rape.

* * *

2 Days Earlier…

"_Two of a kind, what do we go here?"_

"_That's good, but it's just not good enough. Full diamonds." _

"_God, Rodney. Fuck you." _

_The worn man chuckles to himself, gathering the winnings in the middle of the ping-pong table they fabricated into a poker set. He folds the cash and change and places it in his pocket, snatching up his red pack of cigarettes before lighting one up. Another slides in on the bench next to him, stealing the cigarette right out of his mouth._

"_What are we betting here, blood or money?" _

"_Money, boss. It's just a game." _

_The Joker exhales the smoke from the stolen cigarette and narrows his gaze across to the other scoundrels playing. "Just a game? Is money all that matters to you boys?" He looks around, licking his chapped lips. _

_The circle of six men nod and agree. The clown smiles and then slams his cocked gun on the table, pointing it at everyone. "We play for blood. The winning hand keeps everything and gets 25% of our next earnings. Sound fair?" _

_They agree again, but the Joker continues. "And the first one out plays a little Russian Roulette with me." _

_Their smiles fade._

_He deals the cards, watching one by one as the men play for their lives. Their hands are stiff and glare across the table at their competitors, with the red smile wide as he watches his game pan out. _

_Riiiiiiiiiing…_

_Riiiiiiiing…._

_He looks down at his old mobile phone and reads the number that pops up before he presses END to interrupt the call and excuses himself from the game, walking away as he dials 9-1-1._

* * *

1 week after the first encounter…

It is a gloomy day in Gotham, but nothing new to its residents. It is almost winter, and trees are beginning to die, leaving their last bit of leaves on the dry ground. The billionaire and his mentor visit the Wayne family every last Sunday of the month and pay respects to those they lost.

"Lovely day, is it not?" Alfred beams, laying a bundle of daisies in front of Rachel Dawes' headstone.

Bruce Wayne stands beside him, smiling sadly as he remembered all the days he and Rachel had together and how the Joker took her away from him.

_Now that I think about it, what ever happened to him after that night? _

He frowns slightly and motions to Alfred for them to leave.

They stride up the hill towards the Maybach waiting to take them home when Bruce sees a flicker of green in his peripheral. He twists around heading towards the flapping glint of green, each stride becoming more and more urgent.

Alfred follows at a distance, afraid of the events that could possibly happen.

At the first crumple of a leaf, the man turns from his kneeled position to see Bruce Wayne and his butler only yards away. He stares blankly at them, knowing he would have a lot of explaining to do.

Bruce runs down the remaining points of the hill, surprised the Joker does not even flinch at his looming presence.

"Why are you here?" He growls.

The Joker covers up whatever he was doing and shrugs. "What, so I'm not allowed to be in a cemetery?" His voice is deep and monotone. It's very tone and the Joker's black stare sends chills down his back.

"No, what are you doing here?"

The Joker breaks eye contact and looks back at the churned dirt and hole he dug right by the old oak tree.

"Visiting family."

His voice cracks at the last word and he stands up, acting carelessly and tosses a towel—with the Wayne emblem etched into its fibers- - to the dirt. Bruce subconsciously looks to the Joker's middle. Still swollen, but empty.

He turns to leave, but Bruce snatches his arm, keeping it in a vice and forces the Joker to look at him. "Where is it?"

"Where is _what_?"

"The kid."

He tries to look away but Bruce tightens his grip on the arm, knowing it will bruise. The Joker forces himself not to look at the billionaire and is more transfixed on the ground than anything else. Bruce's eyes follow the Joker's to the towel and the dirt.

His heart sinks.

"It's dead." The Joker shakes the billionaire off of him, making it clear to his small audience that he was burying his own…

"Did you…"

The Joker turns around, his poisonous glare burrowing deep into Bruce Wayne's soul. "Did I _what_?" He spat, knowing he was intimidating the billionaire. He was vulnerable, without the suit, without anything but a pocket knife and a cell phone.

The cocky voice returned as he hissed, "Oh. Did I kill it?" He circles the man like a shark, also keeping an eye on the butler. One wrong move and that old man would put him in Arkham.

"What's it matter to you anyways? It was only moments old."

Bruce grabbed the back of his forearm, immediately twisting it behind the man's back and forcing him to the ground. He snarled into the Joker's ear, "You're inhuman."

The Joker swung his elbow back into the billionaire's gut and kicked him away once there was distance between them. He put out his dirty palm in defense right before gagging and twisting over to spit out a stream of blood.

Bruce bit his lip, "Alfred! We need a medic!"

The clown barely cared if anyone was going to help him as he braced himself on his elbows, vomiting dark crimson blood.

* * *

"_Thank you very much for your call, sir. We will have a SWAT team over there right away."_

* * *

I know its confusing but it will ALL make sense later, this isn't like LOST so you don't have to worry about having unanswered questions all the time. I know its short, but I needed to update anyways. Thanks readers, hope you don't kill me.

R&R!


	3. Carmine Falcone

Sorry about the waiting guys, I've been at conventions getting everything done and my writing has gotten lazy, so I apologize. Luckily I have some of the other chapters already written. For Moonstruck too. Tell me what you like, hate, etc. And I don't own anything.

* * *

"He should be alright, all he needs is a new dressing every 8 hours and penicillin to fight the infection. And make sure he gets lots of water, and he should be fine in a week." The elder doctor smiles as he packs up his bag, leaving an orange bottle of pills on the bedside table, and gives one last glance at the sleeping figure in the bed.

Bruce Wayne nods his thanks as Alfred escorts the doctor to the door.

He switches his attention to the Joker, asleep in _his _bed and pulls up a lounge chair next to the bedside to watch him sleep.

The door shuts behind them, and Bruce finds himself staring into those eyes once more.

"Why did you bring me here?" He whispers.

Bruce looks around to make sure their conversation is private and shrugs. "You blacked out and neither Alfred or I know how to properly take care of an infected bullet wound."

The Joker raises the sheets to look at himself and stares at the soggy, orange bandage on his right side not saying a word.

"I suspect that is why you vomited blood. We're letting you heal, and then you're back where you started."

He smirks, "Nothing ever changes with you, Bats." He rustles with the sheets and pillows, becoming uncomfortable in the very presence of his enemy trying to avoid all eye contact with the billionaire who had spared his life for another countless time.

"Uh, do you need anything?" Bruce suggests, trying not to make the situation more awkward.

"Water."

Bruce nods and sits up, retrieving a glass from the bathroom sink and hands it to the unmasked clown. "Oh." The billionaire mumbles to himself and snatches up the orange bottle of pills, unscrewing the cap and places two in the man's hand.

"You uh, might as well take two of these right now."

The Joker stares at the contents in his hand, then back to the brown eyes. "What are they?"

"Hydrocodone."

"For what?"

Bruce exhales hard, "The doctor said you might be in for a rough night. He already gave you a shot of morphine, but it could wear off by in the next few hours."

He tosses them back at Bruce. "I have a high pain tolerance. I don't want them."

He scoffs, "What makes you say that?"

The Joker smirks, "The past few days have been hell, but I've made it through them. This night will be no different."

"Except now, if you move around in your sleep too much your side will rip open and your insides probably don't feel great anyways."

The Joker mutters incoherently to himself.

_If this is the Joker… why do I feel so comfortable talking to him? _

Wanting to change the subject to a lighter matter, Bruce shrugs it off and begins to lighten up. "So where did you get _Joker _from? I mean—you must have a real name."

The clown stares at him from the edge of the water glass, tipping it down to speak, "You know, it's not that easy to come out and tell you all these things."

"Well, I _did _save your life. Actually, three times now." Bruce smirks, knowing he has the upper hand in their little game. The Joker was going to tell him everything before the billionaire chooses what will happen to the clown. A story upon fate.

He sighs, "Where do you want me to start?"

"From the beginning."

"Could you elaborate?"

"_No."_

He sighs once more.

"Tell me, how all of this happened to you."

"It's not a good bedtime story, I can tell you that." The Joker retorts.

Bruce takes a deep breath, knowing the next question he would ask might induce a quarrel. He had to know. "What happened to the child?"

The Joker sits up, never taking his eyes off of the man that had the nerve to ask him about the death of his own child. And Bruce recognizes the look. It is not of anger or hate but there was a deep sadness inside of them.

Finally, he speaks. "It died. Minutes after it was born."

Bruce shrugs uncomfortably. "Maybe it was because of the bullet wound."

The Joker sighs, knowing it will be a long night. "It started ten years ago…"

* * *

_I woke up with a burning sensation in my chest as if someone had yanked my heart out, set it on fire and placed it back into my breast. I could not speak, see, breathe, or move. I could hear every word above me and felt wires all around my body and presumed I was probably in a hospital. _

_I didn't remember much or why I was there. Everything just seemed to be a blur to me, there was no recollection or memories. I was just an empty shell and when I looked in the mirror I had these._

The Joker points to the extended smile upon his face.

_I had no family, or anyone to contact and I could not pay the hospital bills and I was put on the street. _

_He sat down against the front of a convenience store that had earlier closed hours ago at midnight. Curled up inside a stolen hooded jacket, he tried to stay dry from the constant rain in Gotham City. With a navy bandana wrapped around his mouth he tried to hide his scars from the public. _

_With eyelids heavy, he attempted to stay awake for the feeling of security during the night. _

_A black Bentley pulled up beside the store and he barely made no recognition to the car. Probably just some moron's butler out to get his master's midnight snack, he mused. _

_But the door unlocked and it opened, starting with a big black umbrella protecting its owner from the rain. A big, graying man stepped out of the car staring down at the bum on the street. He looked up to meet eyes as cold as a dead fish. _

"_What?" He began, his voice muffled from the bandana around his mouth._

_A thick Italian accent pierced through his lips as he spoke, "Come with me, please." He motioned towards the car door._

_He hesitated, "Why?" _

"_Well, I am a sure that it beats sitting out here."_

_The old man was right. He sighed and stood up, being lead into the backseat of the car and was instantly placed between two suited men on one side of the car, as the elder fellow sat himself across from his new guest. _

_The car started moving._

"_Tell me, what is your name?"_

_The kid looked around anxiously and shrugged. "I don't know…"_

"_You do not know your own name?"_

"_No, I don't." he repeated rudely. _

"_Could you at least remove the bandana from your face?"_

_They shared sharp gazes until he reached behind his ears to untie the fabric, revealing the scars on either side of his face. He could instantly sense the uneasiness inside of the car and looked down in embarrassment. _

"_Now my boy, don't be ashamed…" He cooed, and rubbed his shoulder in a caring manner. He could feel the boy shudder under his touch and recoiled. _

"_Where are you taking me?"_

"_I have a proposition for you. If you agree, I will give you a home, food, a bed and clothes." _

_The boy's eyes looked up, "Yeah? Well what is this proposition?"_

"_We will talk over dinner."_

"He introduced himself as Carmine Falcone…" The Joker muses, breaking eye contact with the billionaire as he looks down, knowing his new savior had so-called connections with the late empire.

"He saved my life."

* * *

Well, it will soon continue! And for those reading Moonstruck, the next chapter is coming up! Don't worry, and I apologize for the wait. R&R! And it will ALL make sense later.

-Ididntdoit07


	4. Mercenary

Scars We Share: Chapter 4

Sorry again for the wait but its up here and surprisingly this chapter is longer that the latest Moonstruck chapter. Eek. I do admit this one is easier to write because it is going to be a little bit of a shorter fiction. Tell me everything you're thinking when you read this, and I do not own ANYBODY. Ha, that's right. Everyone is a Batman character even Mario Falcone even though he gets a single frame in the comics. I felt like I was writing the Godfather when I was talking about the Falcones.

Warning: This fiction includes mpreg, rape, slash/yaoi, angsty times. May need tissues later if you're the sappy type like me.

* * *

"_You poor thing, you act as if you haven't eaten in weeks." Carmine Falcone watched as the boy he had picked up an hour ago munched down on everything that was placed in front of him, shoving it down as if he were a wild animal. The two sat across from each other on the glossy, mahogany table, and the elder man ushered his servants away._

"_Tell me, son. How old are you?"_

_He looked up from chewing on a piece of bread, swallowed, and spoke. "Eighteen."_

"_You're just a child…" he muttered quietly to himself before raising his voice, "I have a son, Mario, who is seven years older than you. He is a very smart man already and will be taking over my business when I am gone." _

_The scarred boy shrugged as if asking for more information. _And…?

_Falcone smiled gently and pulled a Polaroid out of his wallet, sliding it across the table to his new visitor. "If you accept my proposition, he will be in charge of your actions."_

"_My actions?"_

_He folds his hands together, "While it might be easy now, we cannot serve you with nothing in return. You fit our qualifications." _

_The boy looks around, taking a break from the food as the situation becomes uncomfortable. "What do you mean…?"_

_There was a cold smirk. _

I knew there was something up this guy's sleeve. He's probably in the mob, secretly having meetings and cannolis inside the neighborhood pizza parlor. But… I'm in no position to be giving up shelter for a simple favor.

"_We are… not good people as some would say." _

_I _knew it.

"Carmine told me about their family and their relations with the Italian mafia in Gotham. He knew I had nobody and that was why I was perfect for him. He had control over my actions and everything I did in exchange for my own life. I thought it was a pretty fair trade.

I did not sleep that night, even though I was given a bed and room to myself. I had too many things going on in my mind and wondered if I had made a mistake. I fell asleep out of exhaustion hours later only to be woken up by Falcone's maid service wanting to make the bed.

He invited me to my first breakfast in the house.

"_Oh, good morning." Falcone gave his sly grin, signaling to the boy to sit across the dining room table. He nodded his thanks. "I hope you slept well last night."_

"_Yes." _

_Smirking,he says "So have you put any thought into our proposition?"_

_After sipping down half of his glass of orange juice, he replies. "Tell me what I need to do."_

_Falcone chuckles to himself, knowing his plan is playing out just perfectly. "You know, boy. You remind me very much of my friend Jack Napier. You are very smart, like him. He was also one of my clients, but due to some complications he is not with us anymore and I hope you will take his place, 'Jack.'"_

_The boy bites his lip._

"_Jack. Is it an acceptable name?"_

"_Y-yes." _

"_Are you willing to be our subordinate?"_

"_I will be, yes."_

_He smiles. "Good. You start today." _

_A tall, dark man walks into the room, brushing his black locks behind his ear as he enters behind Falcone. He was clean cut, wearing an Armani suit and placed a hand upon the elder's shoulder. "Jack, this is my son, Mario._

"_He will teach you everything you need to know about us and train you properly. It should not take more than a few months. We lead a simple life."_

_Simple life, my ass. _

"_How many more laps are you going to make me run?" He cries out at the tall Italian on the sidelines of an old parking lot. After the fifth lap, he breaks into a walk as the cramp in his side prevents him from moving any further. He holds his side in pain, walking over towards Falcone._

"_Jack, that is not acceptable. We have taken you in and given you everything; it would be kind to return the favor."_

_What do you mean return the favor? You're making me run fucking laps, this isn't Rocky. _

"_I can't… run anymore today, Falcone." _

_The young Italian smiles, right before embedding his fist into the kid's stomach, forcing him to the asphalt. Jack curls up on the ground, clutching his middle as he gasps for air. _

"_A foe is not going to give you any mercy, and you shall not either. Get up."_

_Fuck you._

_He props himself upon his elbows, choking on his own air. _

"_I said get up!" Mario screams, "I would have killed you, had I been an enemy."_

"_What am I going to be doing that involves enemies…?" he croaks out, managing to stand. Mario's cold eyes were not something to challenge and he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. _

"_This pistol has shed more blood than the shootings in 79', I would suggest you not challenge its power. Others have made that fatal mistake."_

_Jack feels his heart stop beating._

"_You kill people…" Everything made sense. _

_You took me in, to become a mercenary?_

"_Do not say it like that, Jack. We do not harm the innocents if they stay out of our way. My father did not tell you then?"_

"_No… he failed to leave out that little detail." Jack slowly backs away from the gun, finally understanding what he had been 'hired' for. "I don't want this anymore…" _

_Mario smirked, yanking back the hammer to cock the gun. "I'm afraid you have no choice, unless you like the taste of lead."_

"_Then why me?"_

"_You are anonymous, an unknown, a nobody. Nobody knows you exist, we needed a guinea pig like you for a while. It seemed like a pretty fair trade, no?" _

I made the deal with the devil.

"_Just a nobody…" Jack repeats quietly to himself, not believing the events that had played out so quickly before his eyes. _

_Mario sighs, lowering the pistol, "You have nowhere else to go. If you choose to run, we will kill you."_

* * *

I was trapped by him and his family. I had no choice but to follow their orders and do everything I was told. Every night as I fell into bed I couldn't move, and every morning I was woken up by Mario who always had specific plans for me.

He made me work until my bones ached, fight until I would surrender and it would just continue until I couldn't anymore. He trained me never to give into anything and fight to the death.

_The young boy tosses himself into the soft bed mattress after a long day working outWith muscles sore from running and lifting weights, he curls into a ball attempting to sleep._

_Jack, what the hell are you doing? You can't stay with them forever, you can't deal with this forever. _

"_God…" He exhales into the feather pillow, before his eyes shut and he falls into a slumber._

_The bedroom door squeaks open, letting in the hall way lights as a much taller man stands in the door way. _

_Jack lifts his head, curious as to who would interrupt his sleep."Hmm?"_

_The man strides into the room, shutting the door silently behind him, walking over to the head of the bed to face Jack. He gently touches the boy's shoulder, causing him to pry his eyes open and see his new trainer._

"_Mario…? What are you doing here…?"_

_Great. If he thinks I'm going to get up at midnight and run another fucking mile, he'll be disappointed._

"_Shhh. Don't say anything." His dark hand covers Jack's mouth, transitioning from a single finger to all five covering his lips and scars._

_Jack's heartbeat accelerates and attempts to shy away, when the Italian's other arm grips his shoulder, pushing him violently against the bed. He grunts in surprise at the force, looking around wildly as to what was happening._

"_Calm down… I'm not going to hurt you."_

_He rips open his own button down shirt, leaning in close to Jack's face, "I've been watching you all these days…"_

_Oh, no._

_He pushes in closer, moving one of his legs in between Jack's, and quickly removes his hand from the scarred lips and pushes his own against the boy's._

_He attempts to push against the man, and squeezes his lips shut. Mario waves away the motion, knowing that the boy is weak from the day's events and reaches into his back pocket to take out a pair of handcuffs. _

_Jack's heart stops. No…_

"_What are you doing?"_

_He thrashes around, trying his hardest to prevent to act he knows is about to come. With his arms held together by one strong palm, he slaps on one of the cuffs, tightening it to the bony wrist and yanking it up towards the headrest of the bed. Looping it around one of the bars, he manages to cuff the other, trapping Jack._

_Terrified, he pulls against the cuffs in attempt to free himself, but it is useless. He cries out and is reprimanded with a pair of knuckles to the side of his scarred face._

_He groans into his pillow as blood gushes from his lip. _

"_You need to stay quiet." The Italian says as he places a thick amount of duct tape over his victim's mouth. "It will be over soon."_

* * *

Bruce bows his head down. He did not have to hear the ending to the first story to understand what Mario had done. Subconsciously, he rested his hand on top of his new patient's, sighing in remorse. "I'm sorry he did that to you."

With no response, he looks up somewhat alarmed, catching himself off guard at the Joker, 'Jack', passed out in the bed as a result of the drugs.

* * *

His brown eyes flutter open and he drearily lifts his head from resting on his palm, waking hours after taking the drugs. His vision focuses in the dark room, as it is still not dawn, noticing the other sleeping figure in front of him. There is the billionaire resting his eyes against his own shoulder In the lounge chair.

After debating in his head whether or not the drug still had an effect over his body, he sits up with his hands immediately gripping the sides of his head. Still in a drunken stupor, he manages to swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand, groping around blindly to navigate his way to the bathroom.

His bare feet hit the cold tiles and he reaches to the side of the wall, flicking on the bathroom lights.

He rubs his eyes to help adjust to the new light and drags himself to the mirror.

Jack stares at his reflection in the mirror, sighing as he touches his face. _It's been a while since I last looked at myself….Ha. _He traces a finger over the scar on his lip, remembering exactly how many stitches and how much blood he lost from that one single blow.

He smirks and pulls at the bottom of his shirt, to look at himself and the wound on his side. His eyes go to the side and below his navel where there is a horizontal scar an inch in length.

Sighing at the recurring memory, he turns back watching Bruce slumber peacefully and whispers to himself, "I'm afraid there are a few things I can't unveil, Brucie."

* * *

Okay I know it might be confusing for some of you, but it will ALL make sense later. This isn't like LOST when there are a billion random things happening for absolutely no reason and then throwing in a twist that has nothing to do with the rest of the story. All of it is preplanned and the summary of everything that will happen is written in its own document. It just takes a while to embody every bit of it out. Next chapter should be coming soon. I'm back in business and my job has hired more people so I'm not working fulltime anymore. Tell me how it is, how you want me to change it, etc.

Oh and the italicized parts are in the past if you haven't yet figured that out. I was gonna add another flashback but I will let it wait for the next chapter.


	5. Beautiful People

Alrighty guys here is the next chapter of Scars We Share. See, I told you I'll start updating normally again. The next Moonstruck chapter is almost done as well, so if you haven't yet checked that one out you should. I've developed a strange writing time at 3am every morning, really helps writers block. I should stop rambling and get onto the story.

There are gonna be those that are mad because the flashbacks aren't in order but hey, that's the way I roll and its all going to fit together very nicely in the end, down to the very last simple detail. I may skip ahead in flashbacks and then later go back to the beginning of one of the events; I wanted to label but that seemed like too much to remember, anyways its not rocket science.

In this chapter, I wanted to bring in a new flashback on how things in the past are affecting what is happening in the present as well as bringing the story back down to earth where Jack and Bruce really start to bond, and decided to add a little humor again to lighten the mood. Damn, I write a lot at 3am.

Don't own anything, blah blah blah… on with the story.

* * *

_The forbidden act went on for weeks; every other night the heir to the Falcone family would wake up their new resident and use him to release himself from the world. After the fourth time, the boy did not fight anymore and instead let him finish in order to get it over with. _

_Mario let out a low exasperated groan as he tilted his head back, finishing off the deed for the night. He freed himself from Jack, and patted the boy on the shoulder to thank him for their encounter. _

"_You should at least try to enjoy it, Jack." _

_The boy buried his forehead into his pillow, wiping off the sweat from his brow and only groaned in response. _

"_Did you hear me?" He tightens his grip on the boy's shoulder._

_Shut up…_

_Jack turns over, covering himself with the bed sheets, "Yeah I heard you, I just don't feel g…" He trails off as fire burns through his throat. "Don't feel guh-" He holds a hand to his mouth, looking around frantically for the closest bag, trash can, anything._

_He leans over the edge of the bed, letting out the contents of his stomach to the floor below. _

_Coughing and gagging, he takes a deep breath inward and wipes a hand over his mouth. _

"_What the hell was that?" Mario smacks his shoulder._

"_I said I didn't feel good…" He mumbles out, embarrassed. _

_The Italian groans as he stands and zips up his pants to fetch Jack a cup of water. Hunched over and recovering from being sick, he takes deep breaths, also mind racing as to what caused him to vomit. He sits back, lying against the bed frame and is handed the water to wash his mouth out._

"_You are going to clean that up, correct?"_

_Jack nods from behind the glass. _

"_Good. I will see you in the morning." He shuts the door quietly behind him, not wanting to wake any other of the Falcone family. _

_Jack gripped his abdomen, falling back into the bed as he stared at the ceiling._

* * *

_Mmm…_

_It's not yet time to get up, you know this…_

_Why does my back hurt so much? _

_And why is it so cold…?_

Bruce pries himself from his slumber, tearing his eyelids apart as he regains his sense of reality. He groans as he lifts himself from the slumped position in the lounge chair, leaning forward to rub the sleep from his eyes. He glances at the digital clock on the bedstand: 6:08AM. He groans again to himself, pushing his head from side to side to crack his neck when he finds himself staring into an empty bed.

Quickly, he pushes himself off of the chair, stumbling to the balcony in the cold morning air. A cool breeze catches him in the face, greeting him to the deep blue dawn.

He sighs in relief when he sees Jack leaning against the railing, looking out into the dark sky.

"I'm still here, in case you were wondering." He says in a billow of smoke from a newly lit cigarette.

Bruce crosses his arms over his chest, attempting to keep warm. "You know, you really shouldn't be out here, or smoking for that matter."

"In all honesty, Bruce, I'm not too concerned."

Bruce says nothing, and leans onto the railing to stare down at Gotham city below.

Jack shivers slightly in the wind. "So. How did you sleep?"

"Not good, you?"

"I didn't."Jack remarks, faking a small smirk.

Bruce tilts his head, "Have you been out here…?"

"All night? Yeah."

"Jesus—you need to get inside."

Jack pushes the brunet away as he attempts to drag him inside, "No. I like it out here."

"You're crazy; you're in no condition to be out here, you're probably already sick!"

The younger man only grunted in response, taking another breath from the cigarette. The billionaire glanced around, noticing one of the blankets from the guest room was neatly wrapped around one of the balcony chairs. "So… if you were out here all night what have you been doing?"

"Thinking."

Bruce settled himself down in the second chair, curling up to keep warm. "About what?"

Jack turned to him, "Everything. About everyone and how they think." He stared down into the streets where the first of men headed to work crowded the sidewalks. "I've always been fascinated with the human mind and how the slightest things can inspire men to live for something out of reach. I watched them every day to study their motives and I knew with only few words I could control man and inflict fear into them. It really is the only thing that men is afraid of; not being in control."

"Look down into the streets, Bruce. What do you see?"

He leaned forward to glimpse over the edge of his fifteen story penthouse, confused as to what the Joker was getting at. "People?"

He nodded, "They're not afraid anymore. They know it is safe to take the locks off of their windows once again. I've never seen Gotham this calm before." He smirked at the next though, "It's actually a beautiful city, I just never gave it the respect it deserved."

"What do you mean?"

Jack smiled, flicking the end of his cigarette off of the edge of the building, plucking a new one from its pack. "A city will only be as good as its people, and I always tried to convince myself that people were all as nasty as the Falcones, and I was wrong. These people do not know what lies ahead, and they try to get through every passing day with just a smile and shadow by their side, and that's the difference between them and us. There is the innocence we lack."

"I think you meant to say, just you."

He laughed softly to himself, and sat himself in his own chair. "There goes your Batman persona once again, Bruce." Dragging the last match through the cardboard, the pop lit the end of his new cigarette, and he glanced over.

"Do you want one?"

Bruce shrugged, reaching forward.

Jack pulled the pack away from the billionaire, "Nuh-uh, Alfred would kill me."

Bruce sighed, "Probably."

He dragged his chair closer to Jack's, pulling the blanked over both of them to keep warm as they watched the sun rise over the proud buildings of Gotham city. The pale sky was greeted by the first rays of light in days.

Subconsciously, he laid an arm over the shoulder of his companion, feeling so right in doing so.

"You were right, Jack… it is beautiful."

Resting his head upon the other man's shoulder, he sighed deeply at the feeling of comfort. "What makes you think you can call me Jack now?"

Bruce closed his eyes. "The same reason you call me Bruce."

* * *

"_What happened?" Carmine Falcone exclaimed as he watched his son and one of his servants carry in a bloody figure from the torrential rain outside. Carried within the Italian's arms was the boy, bleeding deeply to the side of his chest. _

"_I should have known he wasn't ready…" Mario muttered as he laid the unconscious figure on the mahogany dinner table._

_The elder father jumped from his chair, pushing his son out of the way to examine the damage. "That does not answer my question, Mario. What happened?"_

_Mario stepped away, running a hand through his drenched locks, "He was ambushed; before he even got in they tore him to shreds and they sliced him up pretty bad."_

"_This was done with a blade?"_

"_Y-yes…"_

"_Jesus…"_

_The boy was soaked to the bone, red with impending fever and blood covering his clothing. Even unconscious, there was a hint of pain written upon his scarred face. Carmine bit his lip and called out to his servants to fetch a medic._

_With bare hands he tore the boy's stained shirt off of his chest, examining the wound himself. "This is the only area he was hurt?"_

_Mario shook his head, "I'm not sure…"_

_Sighing, Carmine waved the servants and personal doctor inside the dining room, "He will live, but I still want him looked over and treated." Pointing and accusing finger, he turned to his son. "And you—I don't want to see any of this anymore unless you want to be the one on this table next time." He stormed out of the room, leaving his son and services tend to Jack._

_Mario frowned, expression changing from guilt to rage. _

_He glared into a painted frame on the wall, glaring daggers into his father's pastel face before tearing it off of the wall, making his own exit._

* * *

Bruce stared down into the warm cup of tea and various pills he carried up to his new resident's room after managing to pry the sleeping clown off of him and carry him to bed after having no rest. He silently crept though the door, not wanting to wake the patient just yet and gently set the tray upon the bed stand.

He sat back into the lounge chair, noticing the red pack of cigarettes tucked between the drawers of the bed stand, and stole one for himself.

Lighting the end of it and taking a small drag from it, he whispered through the cloud of smoke. "What aren't you telling me, Jack?"

He shook his head, "You've done so much to hurt me. And the ones I love… You're responsible for Loeb, Rachel, and Harvey… responsible for everything: killing those people, escaping Arkham, and asking me for help even after that night…" He broke into a nervous laughter, remembering everything that had happened within the past year.

"You're the most ridiculous, crazy, most _interesting _people on the planet and you've even managed to have Bruce Wayne take you in, on top of that, make me agree to assist you. Goddammit I've even served you on a silver platter."

He twiddled the end of his cigarette, "And you've even got me talking to myself."

He stared at the sleeping figure in his guest room bed, muttering to himself. "You fucking Joker…"

"…Whatever happened to 'Jack?'"

Bruce jumped slightly, instantly stabbing the cigarette into the small ashtray as soon as he heard his guest murmur the first word.

_You were awake?_

Settling himself, he tried to bring the instantaneous conversation back down to earth, "I don't know, whatever happened to him?"

He rolled over, giving Bruce a soft look and smile before burying his face back into the pillow, "Stop smoking, it's bad for you."

Bruce couldn't help but sneer at his wit. He muttered to himself, making sure he was loud enough for Jack to hear, "Says the one who smoked while pregnant."

He got a lazy middle finger in reply.

"Well, that was nice."

Groan.

Bruce straightened himself, "You should be thankful after all I've done for you, you know… saving your life…"

Jack twisted around, glaring lazily at the billionaire. "How many more times are you going to bring that up tonight?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, perhaps a few times more?" he looked down into his Rolex, "And by the way, it's 8am now."

"Ugh…"

"Hey, I'm not the one who kept you up all night; that was your own damned fault." Another thought popped into his mind, "And when are you going to tell me more about your little childhood?"

Jack rolled back over, burying himself deep within the down comforter and sheets. "_Goodnight, _Bruce."

He could not help but smile, "Goodnight, Jack."

Bruce sat back in the chair, choosing to watch him and make sure the man would fall asleep before he left the room to catch up on his life as the billionaire. He glanced around, back to the bed stand and frowned.

"By the way, I made you tea." He said in a sarcastic, hinting tone.

Earning one last muffled grunt in response, he decided to leave him in peace, trusting that the man would not leave the home that particular night.

"_Goodnight."_

* * *

_After dragging the curved needle through the boy's shoulder one last time, Doctor Bill Kane sighed at his handy work, suprised the boy had stayed unconscious through the painful ordeal. "What in God's name are they doing to you...?" He whispered to himself as he began to remove the bloodied clothing. _

_His eyes followed the new sutures from his shoulder to a yellow, brown bruise on his side. _

_Kane traced over the large hematoma, and jumped back in surprise when the boy snatched his wrist._

_Taking a deep breath and taking a quick look around, he whispered to the boy. "It's okay... You're back home now, and you're going to be alright."_

_Jack looked at him; the boy was as pale as a phantom. He cringed at a small rip of pain, searching Kane's eyes for the answer to whatever happened. "No, no, no... calm down, it's just the stitches. I can get you something for the pain if you'd like?"_

_He shook his head, with shaky hands leading down his body to lay on his abdomen. "Here..." He croaked out before losing consciousness once more._

_'Here?' Kane lifted the boy's hands, gently setting them down as he inspected even further. _

_He took a sheer breath inward, cupping a hand around his mouth. 'Dear God...'_

"_Uh, sir… I think you should come take a look at this…"_

* * *

So that's it for this chapter. Is it confusing you yet? If it's not then I'm not doing a good job at writing this one. I know it was kind of short but I updated on time so give me a cookie. Or review. Either works as long as you guys give me a little input. And just a note for you guys (again), the italicized are in the past unless it's only one word. I kind of feel like I'm writing about Inception, you can never tell which one is the dream, real life or which is past or present. I also noticed I jumped in between past and present tense during one of the 'scenes' but I'm too lazy to go back and change it, too much effort… Hmmmm…

Tell me how it is by clicking the little review button to the left bottom corner. Click it.

Time for bed, next chapter of Moonstruck and SWS will be out soon!


	6. Home

**Scars We Share: Chapter 6**

_So I actually kind of hated writing this chapter. It might be a little random at parts, but hey I figured I needed to update and so I mixed in a few flashbacks with what's going on in the storyline now. As always, the past is in italics unless it's a thought bubble. Lot's of blood in this chapter kids, so its not really for the faint of heart. _

_I don't own anything. Nope, I don't even own Kane. _

* * *

"_No… that is completely impossible." _

"_I'm afraid not, sir. There are very few cases in which this can happen, but it is still possible. I never had experience in this; this poor boy would be my first."_

"_Well, do you know anything else about it?"_

"_Y-yes… it progresses in the same amount of time as a woman, and the body can change to fit the needs of the child. I would suspect he could have morning sickness, change of behavior, increase in appetite maybe?"_

"_How far along."_

"_Sir?"_

"_How far along is he?"_

"_My guess would be eight to ten weeks? He has not gained any weight from what I can tell. Has he had any boy…friends…? Anybody that could cause this?"_

_Mario shuffled his feet, "Not that I would know, no." _

_Kane sighed, "Very well. I would have to let your elder know of his condition, sir." _

_Mario snorted to himself before exiting the room, "Fine then." _

* * *

When he finally woke, it was five in the afternoon and the rain still poured torrentially outside. Jack found himself alone in the room, and after wiping the late sleep away from his eyes he explored the house for its other residents.

As he came to the stairs he noticed a line of frames leading down the staircase, giving each one a glance as he passed by. There was Thomas and Martha Wayne in their wedding photograph, the next included a baby version of the billionaire heir. He smirked at the fat baby Bruce. Next on the wall was the whole family, with the old butler in the back. Another was Wayne Manor and the beautiful gardens surrounding the castle-like home. The last picture as he reached the first floor was their last Christmas photo.

Bruce looked about 8 years old, with the happiest parents he had ever seen, holding their boy.

Jack sighed; he had never known a real family and the joy that many experienced was a mystery to him. He tore his eyes from the pictures and strode around the granite floors, trying to find the source of the amazing new smell.

He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, finding his savior at the stove.

He leaned his head against the door frame, watching the young billionaire fix up dinner. His brown hair was unkempt, and he only wore sweatpants and a maroon tee; he had obviously not noticed his guest was there.

_Look at him…_

_Look at yourself and everything he has done for you. _

_He saved my life… even after all I've done to him. Even after destroying his life and everything he loved, he's still allowing me here. _

_Ask me more about myself, Bruce. Let me tell you everything… _

He took a quiet step into the room, wanting to get even closer to Bruce, with his eyes transfixed on the man's frame. He was so big, and strong. His shoulders were so broad and protecting. Jack bit his lip.

_I wish I could tell you everything, Bruce…_

_I just want your arms around…._

Bruce sensed the other man in the room, turning and smiling at his guest. "Oh, you're awake Jack…"

He was caught off guard and shot his eyes to the floor, heart rate beating faster and faster.

_All I ever wanted…_

Jack shook his head, backing into the door frame, with a thousand thoughts running through his head. _No, I can't…_

"Jack?"

_Please, don't say my name, Bruce…_

"I…I'm sorry…" He trailed off, twisting on his heel to run from the room and the man who had taken him in.

"JACK!"

He ripped open the front door, never taking a look back into the home before slamming the door and being greeted by the cold rain.

He ran as fast as he could away from Bruce Wayne, ignoring the stinging pain of the cold water upon his skin.

_I was about to throw myself at him… _

_Tell him everything…_

_Let him wrap his arms around me…_

_Let him hold me._

* * *

"JACK!"

He dropped the pan of frying vegetables upon the stove, chasing after Jack as his heart raced in fright. He came to the door which was swinging back and forth; the young man was gone within the rain. "JACK!"

Alfred ran into the room, "Sir, what's…?"

Bruce brushed past him, throwing on his coat from the hanger nearby. "Jack's gone. I'm going to find him."

"But, sir—it's terrible outside!"

Bruce zipped himself up, "I have to find him. Without us, he'll die out there."

Alfred was speechless, realizing how much his young master had changed within the past few days and that he actually cared for the man who hurt him. "Very well, my sir… but might I suggest taking the car?"

* * *

He could feel a strange warmth trickling down his body, and stopped to look down at the stained red section of his white shirt. He cursed to himself, finally finding his way to the paved road leading back to the city.

He panted hard, cutting his breath short at some moments from the stabbing pain in his side from the re-opened wound.

Breaking into a quick walk, he kept his eyes on the black asphalt, not wanting to even remember the previous turn of events.

_Why do I have to remember…_

* * *

"_Mario! Do you have any idea about this?"_

"_No."_

"_You're not telling me the truth, I know when my son is lying to me."_

"_You don't know anything!"_

"_Jesus, Mario, you are not a child anymore, you have to take responsibility for your actions. It is because of you that he is like this. He did not have proper training."_

_Mario only grunted in response, held prisoner by his own father in the office. He knew what he had done to Jack and that the condition the boy was in was under his jurisdiction. He knew what could happen if Carmine found out about his actions… _

_Carmine sighed, folding his hands upon the desk. "We cannot have him like this, Mario. He will be no use to us."_

_Mario avoided his father's cold stare, growling. "Am I excused?"_

_The old man was silent, and Mario stood abruptly, exiting the room loudly. _

_He strode down the halls, gaining speed as he came upon the kitchen, and slammed himself into the counter tops, yanking out every single drawer as he searched drastically for the item he was looking for. Rummaging through forks, appliances, pans and spatulas, he took hold of the steel blade hiding between the whisk. _

_Longer than his hand, he figured it would have to do. _

_

* * *

_

Carmine ran as fast as he could through the halls of his manor, followed by Kane and his servants. He could hear the scream miles down the corridor, making his heart sink to the floor. They came to the site at which they heard the boy; from his very room, and he froze.

_A deep maroon paint covered the bed, carpet, and wall. The sight of the freshly spilled blood was enough to stop the beating of his heart and his eyes went to Jack. _

_The young boy lay on the floor, holding his stomach as means to stop the bleeding. His face was distorted in pain as hot tears and blood seeped out of the corners of his mouth. He wheezed into the carpet, groaning and crying out from the deep pain._

"_My God…"_

_The young Italian sat next to the bed stand, shaking as he stared at his blood stained hands. He could not meet the eyes of his father, and only watched his reflection in the red blade at his feet. _

"_What have you done?" Carmine screamed._

_Kane ripped off his jacket, balling it up to hold to the stab wound. "We need to get him to a hospital, . This is beyond me…" _

_Waving it off, Carmine pinned his eldest to the wall. "What in God's name have you done to him?"_

"_I….I ki-killed it…"_

_After slamming his body into the plaster wall, Carmine threw him to the floor. "You killed him! And for what?"_

_Mario put out a red hand in defense, "You said we did not need it…"_

"_And you took it upon yourself to destroy it?"_

_He said nothing as he watched Kane and their servants take the boy he had brutally attacked from the room. Kane sent him a look before shutting the door behind him, leaving the Falcones to take the matters into their own hands._

_Carmine turned back to the younger Italian. "It was your son, was it not?"_

_Mario bit his lip._

_The elder shook his head. "Get out."_

"_I said GET OUT!"_

* * *

"_Jack!"_

_Beep-beep!_

The young man looked over his shoulder to see a black Lamborghini Murcielago coming down the asphalt one hundred yards behind him. He had only been walking for an hour, and pondered the thought of the billionaire finding him rather fateful. He was Batman after all.

Soaked to the bone in cold rain, he twisted back around, not yet ready to face him just yet. The blaring horn behind him grew louder as the car neared.

"Shit…"

"Jack, what the hell are you doing?" Bruce screamed out the window.

_Don't answer, keep walking._

He coasted to the point where he was side by side with the scarred man, leaning out the window. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Jack did not answer him, keeping his eyes on the wet pavement.

"JACK! Answer me!"

"I'm walking, Bruce. What do you think I'm doing?"

"That's not what I asked you…"

"Oh yeah? Well, it seemed pretty clear that you asked me what I'm doing."

Bruce sighed in frustration. "Why did you run out like that? Everything was going fine-"

Jack suddenly stopped, turning to face the billionaire in the car, "Exactly! That's the huge fucking problem, Bruce!" He noticed the clear expression of misunderstanding plastered on the brunet's face, knowing he would have to elaborate like usual. "You're so wrapped up in your billionaire bullshit and attempting to make everything better that you don't get a grip of reality. I'm not used to this kind of sob story crap, I don't open up to people; Look at who I am for fuck's sake! What do you see?"

Beyond the bitterness in his speech, he could hear the man he once knew as the Joker choking up behind the scars and words.

"I see a man standing in the rain, throwing a fit like a teenage girl."

"You don't understand, Bruce. You know what it's like to have a family who cares for you, people to run to when you're weak, you have everything in the world! And me…? I've had to take everything I ever owned at gunpoint before I met those fucking inhuman people."

"So even the Joker realizes that there are other heartless people in this world."

"Shut up…."

Bruce sighed, "Will you please come home?"

Jack bit onto his lip, "I'm being serious, I just want you to leave me the hell alone."

Clearly offended, Bruce put the car in park, immediately exiting the vehicle and surrendering himself to the rain. "Why?"

Jack backed away from the billionaire, shaking his head. _I can't let you go, Bruce. You already know too much and I have to leave you. As much as I don't want…_

_You have done everything for me, despite everything I have done to you._

_I can't let any of it continue, Bruce. _

_Or else…_

As he turned away from the older man, he could feel the warm hand grab around his wrist, telling him to stay. He froze for a brief second, admitting to himself that Bruce was all he wanted.

"Get the fuck off me!" He screamed as he tried to yank himself away, but the attempt was futile as the brunet pulled Jack into his embrace.

With his chest pressed against the smaller man's back, he could feel the staccato beating of his heart, and tightened his grip around the boy. "There are a billion things I don't get about you, Jack Napier. Perhaps some stories are best kept to oneself, even though I want to know everything about you. You're not used to this; I'm not _used to this. _But maybe we could try to open up what's been inside you all these years, if you only trusted me enough to do so."

Jack shivered under the powerful arms, not sure of how he felt himself.

"Trust you… Even I don't trust me…"

"Jack. You have already told me too much, you can't go back now. I think you gave up not trusting me a long time ago after I saved your life."

He hung his head over the protecting arm, guarding him from everything around them. "There you go again…"

Bruce smirked a little, "Will you at least come back so you can see what I made for dinner?"

His heart stopped when he felt the figure within his arms go limp, and caught the trail of dark crimson pooling beneath him.

"JACK!"

* * *

Leaving you on another cliffhanger, hehe. I'm so evil. I finished this 30 minutse before I had to go to work so I apologize if there are mistakes, I'll fix it soon. :D Btw to the Moonstruck readers, it's coming up soon.


	7. Vendetta

I'll get on with it. Blah blah blah don't own anything, I know I switch in between the past and present tense, but I'm getting back into writing. Alright, enjoy this chapter, next one is already written, and so is moonstruck! Finally.

_

* * *

_

"_Where is he, Mario? He said he would be here."_

"_Yes, well, over the years we have learned not to trust his every word. Go back inside, Shirlena."_

_The middle aged Italian sucks in the crisp evening air, pulling out a cigar from his pocket. After six months of dating Shirlena Aquista, Mario Falcone was finally engaged to be married to Gotham's second highest Crime Lord name, expected to bring in heirs to fill the shoes of his grandfather as part of the company._

_He sighed, clipping off the end of the cigar, reaching into his pocket for a match._

_After searching with no luck, he looked over to the ash tray to see a full box of matches waiting just for him. He snatched up the matches._

"_Do you normally take what's not yours?"_

"_Oh—Jack."_

_He smiles as he twists around, red paint smearing over his scars, as he enjoys a cigarette of his own. "Jesus, Jack… I didn't know that you were here."_

_He smiled, "Why would I bear to miss my tutors wedding day, mmm?"_

_Mario watched him as the younger man circled him like a shark. "Wh-where did you get the suit?"_

_Jack looked down at the shining, pleated tux that was obviously too big for him. "I borrowed it from one of your friends. I didn't think he would mind."_

_Mario bit his lip as he caught sight of specks of red upon his wrist cuffs. "You can't keep doing this, Jack. You've gotten too far out of-"_

_Jack hissed, grabbing Mario by the shoulders and pulling him away from the windows from the balcony. After making sure nobody saw them, he whispered in Mario's ear, making him shudder. "You have no control over me anymore, and if you or anyone else catches me off guard, I'll kill them." _

_Mario smiled nervously, pushing the stutter away. "Now, Jack. You know you wouldn't kill me. I'm too important to you."_

_His expression softened, and buried his face into Mario's shoulder as he felt the Italian's hand sneak its way down the back of his pants._

* * *

"Jack…!"

As he is pried from his lifeless body and rejoins the living once again, he wheezes out, gasping for air as he blindly reaches around for something to clear his throat. Bruce Wayne is quick to react, having watching the unconscious man the past few hours, hands him a cool glass of water that he sips down quickly in between gasps.

He is as pale as a ghost, trembling with eyes wide.

Bruce reaches forward, stroking his shoulder to let him know he is back at home in safe hands. "Jack, shhh… it's okay, I'm right here. You're home now."

He flinches at the touch as the screaming in the back of his mind continues; a scream that resounds at the thought of death.

He meets Bruce's warm eyes and finds himself coming down as if he were administered a sedative. He looks around, realizing that he is really back at the house, lying in the bed he had called his the past few days, and that there were people around him to protect him from harm.

"Are you alright…?"

He nods softly, wrapping his arms around himself and his sore middle.

"Now that you've caught the flu, had the hematoma on your side burst and given me a heart attack, would you like to tell me what was going on inside your mind when you left last night?"

Jack shakes his head, "Not right now…" is all he mutters.

Bruce reluctantly takes the hint and sets down the water glass on the side table, knowing that all he needed was time to think to himself. He slows his breathing, concentrated on keeping himself calm in the billionaire's presence and turns to him, still not able to make eye contact.

_I've got to tell you…_

"Bruce…"

He looks up at his name, trying to find the soft eyes behind the faded green curls, "What…?"

"I had a dream about everything. And why I'm here…"

Bruce snatched Jack's hand away from his scars, squeezing it to let him know he would listen and stay. "Then tell me, Jack. Tell me the entire truth of how you became…"

"The Joker?"

Bruce nods.

He sighs.

"I was twenty by the time I had finally left the Falcone's. Mario was sent away for a while after my accident. I had gone out one night to play the mercenary part, and I was ambushed. They almost killed me, but thanks to the Falcone's personal Doctor Bill Kane, I was saved. The family fell apart after that night, and after Mario left, I was doing better. And… I wanted to finish the job.

* * *

"_Jack where are you going?"_

"_Out."_

"_You're not better yet, you'll open up the wound again!"_

"_Like I give a shit."_

_Kane shook his head in fright, the hair upon his skin raised as the tension becomes greater and greater. He watched as the boy before him shoved knives and a gun into the back of his pants, concealing the holster with his black hoodie. "What are going to do?"_

_Jack growled, "What I was supposed to do three weeks ago."_

_The middle aged doctor raised his eyebrow, "Three weeks ago…." _

_He gasped as he remembered that was when the boy was hurt and when Mario left. "No, Jack, you can't!" _

"_Shut up!" _

_At the click of a cocked gun, Kane's heart stopped as he stared down the barrel of the handgun, only ale to whisper. "Jack… what are you-"_

_Jack shook his head, expression softening. "I won't kill you Kane. You were the only one I could trust." He said as he tucked the gun back into its holster. _

"_Then where will you go?"_

"_It doesn't matter, does it?" _

_Kane shook his head. "Take care of yourself, boy."_

* * *

_There were those same assholes, playing poker in the underground side of the abandoned town house. He could tell by the sour smell emitting from it that it was the same house. Dropping his bag by the water heater, he peaked in through the basement window, watching them._

_There were six this time, and he only recalled three the last time. The air was misty from too much smoking, and he picked out his entrance and how he would take them all on. Six bullets in the handgun, he knew he had to hit them all head on. _

"_You fucking slime…" He muttered to himself, ignoring the sore pain in his side. _

_Heart racing, he pulled the bandana from his back pocket, wrapping it around his face to conceal the scars, and tying it behind his golden locks. Taking several deep breaths, he kicked in the window, it breaking easier than previously thought, and fell eight feet into the basement below._

_The men immediately jumped up, cursing in Italian at the intruder. _

_Jack shook his head as he attempted to focus on the task at hand. _

_Shit._

_As he pushed himself up he soon realized he was a child in the lion's den, eyes focusing on the guns pointed his way. The men laugh and point at him, what Jack presumed meant that they remembered him. _

"_Ey boyo, what do ya think yer doin'?"_

_Irish?_

_Jack took a deep breath, brushing off his shoulders and pulled his handgun out of his pocket. "I came here to dispose of you, you fucking pig."_

_The men look to each other before bursting into fits of laughter, when the Irish man speaks once again, revealing a foot long dagger in his left hand, "Oi, did Carmine Falcone send ya here agin?"_

_Pushing the terror from his voice, he snarled at them, "No. I came to fuck you up just on my lonesome."_

_They smile. "Aye. Very well then." _

_His heart sinks._

_The room turns pitchblack, and the first gun is fired, lighting up the room like a small firecracker. The shot triggers the rest of the gunfire and shouting as bullets fly past their bodies. Curling up around the corner, Jack hides under the poker table, waiting for each flash of light to aim at the men. _

_He jumped from the recoil as he shot off his first round—_

_-into the knee of the first man. He screeched in pain, falling to the floor. _

_The men panic, leaving Jack with the open window. He jumped up from underneath the table, shooting blindly. _

_A voice is lost in the quarrel, two down._

_As soon as the adrenaline kicked in, Jack's heart stopped beating in his chest as he felt the trigger click. "Fuck…" He whispered to himself, tossing the gun aside. And then it was quiet; way too quiet for his tastes._

_He gasps as something snatches up his ankle, dragging him out from his new hiding spot. He gropes blindly around for something to defend himself with, finding a long glass object. Tossing it behind him, he can hear it smash upon the floor._

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…_

_He digs within his pockets, locating his knife and struggles to pull it open as he finds the Irish man sitting over him. He stares into piercing green eyes, knowing the man was his killer. _

"_Hehehe… he's a feisty little one, isn't he, Colin?" _

_He winces in pain as the second man steps upon his hand, causing him to drop the knife. He then noticed the other four were gone—dead—he had killed them and was now going to die for exacting his revenge. He smiles, eyes baring into their souls. _

"_Oh, what is this now, boyo?" The Irish man, Colin, asked as he pointed towards the bandana, reaching for it. "You got a little something ta hide from us?"_

_No!_

_He kicked the Irish man away, not noticing his bandana went with the man, unveiling the permanent smile carved upon his face. Jack rolls over onto his belly, snatching up his knife once more and pushes it up as hard as he can, into the Irish man's gut. _

_He yanks it out of the man, kicking him over to leave him die._

"_Bad move." He hisses, coming at the other man, whom he is cornering._

_He smiles wide, basking in the feeling of being feared for once in his life. He tosses the knife between both of his hands, causing the man to shudder and sob as he awaits the end of his life. Jack smirks, and his voice cracks, "Ohhh, are you afraid?"_

_The man shook his head, cursing in another language as he did not understand the language the boy was speaking._

"_Ma no… satana…"_

"_Why is everyone so serious nowadays? I enjoyed my time," The crack becomes slick as he wisps his tongue around his mouth, instantly changing his deep voice into that of a snakes. "You enjoyed yours with me, and its my turn." _

_The man breaks out tears, attempting to hide his face. _

"_Oh, shh, shhh…" He kneels down, grabbing the mans hands to remove them from his face, revealing the blade held in between his fingers. "Why so serious…?" The man shook his head, hyperventilating as the blade made its way into his mouth. He ran his tongue over the cleft lip, smirking._

"_Let's put a smile on that face." _

_The man screamed as the razor sharp knife carved into his cheeks, blood spurting onto Jack's face and hands. His smile faded as he realized what exactly he was doing, and as if he blinked away the madness, he was the innocent boy._

_The body fell over, blood spilling onto the floor like red paint as he stared down at his masterpiece. _

_"Y-you…."_

_Jack gasped as the Irish man crawled towards him, snatching up a gun. "What have you-" _

_BAM._

_He gasped, coughing up blood from the new bullet wound in his chest. He tripped, falling onto Jack, pushing them both to the floor. The boy screamed when the man grabbed his face, kicking him away once again, dead._

_He pulled his knees up to his chest as he stared at his reflection in the broken glass; blood smeared on his scars like the smile of the devil._

* * *

"I left after that. I never returned to the Falcone's ever again, took everything I had ever owned with me in the bag." Jack smiles as he remembers everything, "Can you guess what I found in that house?"

Bruce shrugs, still a bit perturbed from the story. "I don't know, a gun?"

Jack reaches down his shirt, pulling out a small card, handing it to Bruce, who smiles, already knowing what it is. He takes it up and looks at it anyways. "I should have known: your business card."

The billionaire hands it back to him, thinking over everything.

"Wait. You never returned to see the Falcones ever again?"

Jack shook his head, "I never returned to that place, no."

"Then… I'm sorry if this offends you, but I was under the impression that Mario Falcone was the father of the child."

"He was."

"What…?"

Jack shakes his head at the flabbergasted billionaire, and frowns. "You sure do have a lot of questions, Bruce."

"If you don't feel comfortable with telling me that, it's alright."

Jack sighed again, cupping the brunet's fingertips within his palm. _I owe it to you, Bruce, after everything you have done for me. You deserve to know the truth. _He smiled sadly, beginning again.

"_I was 22, living in a motel, paying it all off from other…tenants. Almost everything except for my jacket and my phone were stolen. I became very good at it and I could support myself easily when robbing banks, and killing anybody who got into my way. Nobody was able to track me, nobody even knew I existed, until one night I was just watching tv in the room…_

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ._

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ._

_Jack whips his head around, tearing his eyes off of the television screen down at his cell phone on the bed stand. Staring in disbelief, at the phone, he shakes his head, grabbing the vibrating phone. The screen reads UNAVAILABLE #, and he frowns, wondering what the hell to do._

"_Um…" He flips it open, clearing his throat. "Hello?" he tries to say in the most normal voice he can imitate._

"_Jack, they told me I could find you on this number."_

_His heart rate increases and stomach drops. Jack? How would he know…? _

"_I think you are mistaken, sir. We do not know a Jack here." He smacks the flip phone together, tossing it back onto his bedstand before he returns to munching on a bag of chips. _

_It is barely thirty seconds before the phone starts vibrating again._

"_There is no Jack here, I already told you that!"_

"_Can I leave a message?"_

_Jack sighs; this guy was persistent. "Yeah, whatever." He hits the end button, waiting for whatever text message this guy was going to leave him. Oh, it better be good. And how the fuck does anybody know who or where I am?_

_Beep, beep._

_1 New Text Message_

_He takes a deep breath before looking at the message on the phone._

"_Jack, I can't believe I finally found you! After Carmine sent me away on business I was never there to say goodbye to you or figure out why you left. I hoped you would understand. And it sure was not easy tracking you down; I hear you're living in a mini hotel? Call me back, I have a job proposition I would like to talk with you. Mario."_

* * *

_That's it for this chapter. Yep. _


	8. The Joke

Sighing heavily into his hands, Bruce sat on the side of his new resident's bed as he attempted to take in the information he had just been told. _The Joker willingly went back to that monster? And for what, more abuse? _His fingers curled into his palms, nails nearly digging into his hand as he became more furious as he thought about it.

He looked over his shoulder at Jack, who carefully undressed himself, removing the wrapping around his middle. "Are you doing alright?"

Jack nodded, trying not to wince as the drying gauze ripped at his tender middle. "I kind of want to wash up though."

The billionaire's hard gaze never broke, but he nodded.

"Of course."

Jack left his pants on as he walked right past Bruce into the bathroom. "If you have something to say, don't keep it behind your teeth." He snapped, starting the bath for himself.

Bruce bit his lip. _Am I that easy to read?_

_Jack! Dammit!_

He got up, following the Joker into the bathroom. "Jack…"

After pulling off his pants, he sent a glare towards the billionaire in his doorway. "What? You can fucking say it, Bruce. Don't hide it from me, I already know I'm stupid for doing it."

Instead of biting his tongue, Bruce lashed out.

"But for money, Jack?"

He scoffed, "What?"

Once he started, the billionaire was not sure when he could stop until it was all out of his system, like draining a wound. "You agreed to offer yourself to him for money, did you not? That was part of your whole deal? As long as you were his fuck toy he would pay you all you needed?"

Jack shook his head, beginning to laugh in disbelief. "Say it, Bruce."

He took a step back. _Oh, shit. I stepped into bad territory… _

"Go ahead. Call me it." He threw his pants down to the floor, walking slowly up to, Bruce, eyes piercing into his soul.

Bruce drew a quick breath in as the Joker touched his face, dragging him closer, and came to the side of his ear. "You know what I am, Bruce… I've seen you watching me that way these past few days…" He voice softened as he wrapped his arms around Bruce's body, moving his hands down the curve of the billionaire's back.

"Do whatever you want with me… Fuck me."

Bruce shuddered under the words, wanting to grab his arms and pin him down for offering himself as a filthy prostitute.

"I know you want to, Brucie…"

"Stop!" He grabbed the Joker's shoulders, pushing him away and backing him into the corner of the tub. "What the hell is wrong with you? You think I would treat you that way after all we've been through?"

Jack shook his head as if he did not believe what he had just done.

"Jack, look at me! It's _not_ okay to offer yourself for sex if there's nothing behind it…" He shook his head, tears pooling behind his eyes. "My God, that's how Mario trained you…"

He stared at the tiles in the bathroom, trying to replay all of the previous events of the last ten minutes.

_He didn't accept me. He didn't want to use me. He…rejected me… _

He cleared his throat as he felt it begin to tighten, looking around frantically as he could feel the wells behind his eyes fill up. He dipped his head down, hoping his long curls would help hide them as he reached up to wipe the tears off his face.

"Jack…?"

He shook his head, not saying a word and raised another hand to his face.

"Jack, I'm sorry, I…" Bruce trailed off as he realized that the Joker was… crying.

He soften his voice and expression, kneeling down in front of Jack as he curled up on the side of the tub. He gently grabbed one of his hands, pulling it away from his face as his other covered each of his eyes.

"It's alright, Jackie, I'm sorry…"

He pulled against Bruce's restraint on his hand, clearly becoming more upset as he panted out, trying to rip away. Instead, the brunet reached around his bare back, pulling him into an embrace, and immediately, Jack wrapped his arms around Bruce, sobbing into his chest.

Jack panted in between takes, not able to stop the tears from flowing down his face. With no idea as to why he was crying or how he could stop, he let it out as hard as he could.

Bruce rubbed his back and his matte of hair, attempting to listen for any words. He knew that Jack had been through a lot, losing his child, being chased, raped, since he was just a kid and probably never had a chance to let anything out.

He cried for an hour before he finally calmed down enough to realize what he had done and wipe his face clean.

Bruce did not say a word to him, giving him all the time he needed in the bathroom to wash up.

* * *

_What did you do? _

_I don't know._

_Why did you do it?_

_I don't know._

He cupped a hand around his eyes, not wanting to even view his reflection in the bathwater below him. The last bits of the tears were dry, as he dry sobbed into his hands. _What are you doing? You're pathetic. _He steadied his breathing, taking a few glances around to make sure he was alone in the room, took a deep breath and submerged himself into the hot water.

The world around him is too quiet, and only the sound of his heart beating resounds in his ears.

No doors open, nobody snatches him out of the water.

Jack closed his eyes, letting himself peacefully slip from the watery tomb.

* * *

"_Yes, please send him in."_

_He takes a deep breath before stepping before the gigantic German standing in the doorway, debating in his mind whether he should have come or not. He holds his breath behind the bandana, looking to the floor as he is invited into the office room._

_He knows Mario is there; he can tell by the same old cologne in the air._

_Eyes down, all he sees is the man's legs in his peripheral coming from the side. _

"_Oh, Jack! So glad you could make it!"_

_Instinct tears his focus to the young Italian, who was not so young anymore. Behind his slick, black locks were frosty bits of grey and there were small wrinkles around his eyes and grin. "My, Jack. You still look the same." _

_Jack smirked from behind the bandana, "Mmm, and you… I can't say the same for you."_

_Mario frowned, ripping the bandana from his face, throwing it to the floor. "If you are in my office, you abide by my rules and respect me."_

_The blond rubbed a finger over his scars, "So I'm not allowed to wear a silly piece of cloth?"_

_The Italian shook his head. "No."_

_Jack sneered and strode __around the room, looking at the many new pictures that littered his wall and desk top. He came upon a tan, black haired woman, snatching up the picture frame. "Your wife?"_

_Mario sighed, prying Jack's fingers off of the frame, placing it back on his desk. "No, my fiance. We get married next year."_

_Jack nodded, faking interest. "And… you called me here…why?"_

_Mario smiled, "Oh, yes! The business proposition." He moves behind his desk, "Come on, sit." _

_He gives him a strange look before letting himself sit down on the leather couch, listening to every word the Italian said, staring down the briefcase of ten thousand dollars on the desk, that only waited for him to take home, only for one price. He frowned, not sure what he even wanted himself. _

_Mario shut the briefcase, "You can say no, and I will never follow you again."_

_Jack took deep inward breaths, knowing he should not have come or even given Mario the time of day after everything._

"_I don't know, Mario…"_

_The Italian stroked his hair and shoulders, leaning into the crook of the blond's neck. "I know you have missed me, Jack." _

_He shivered under the __snake's hiss, pushing away from the Italian's embrace. As nails scratched up his clothed chest, and hot breath entered his ears, he could only stare down the briefcase upon the desk. All the money he could ever need for one small favor every month. _

"_You have matured very well, Jack…"_

_He drew a sharp breath inward as he felt the man sneak a hand down to his trousers. "Do not lie to yourself anymore; you know you want me inside of you again."_

_With the poisonous lips now merely inches from his own, he shut his eyes, allowing himself to give into temptations once more and rid himself of his angry itch by locking his lips into Mario's, sealing the deal._

_Bruce never once tried to kiss me or even possess me…_

_He only wanted to help me, not even giving into my offers._

_Maybe… just maybe…_

_I can trust him._

Gripping the edges of the tub, Jack pulled himself out of the water, shaking his head violently to rid his airways of any water that had escaped into his body, and leaned over the side to cough. He gasped for air, spitting out water from his lungs.

Catching his breath and regaining consciousness of the world around, he lifted himself out of the tub, wrapping a towel around his waist.

* * *

_Jeez. How long was I in there for? Bruce is probably worried._

Gently unlocking the door and peeking out, Bruce was nowhere to be seen. He sighed to himself, striding into his bedroom as he realized he was alone again. He closed the bathroom door behind him and let the white towel fall off of his hips to the floor.

Crawling back into bed, he could only think of one moment before drifting off into sleep…

He knocked gently on the wooden door a few times, receiving no answer and quietly opened it to peek inside. Bruce soon noticed the Joker was fast asleep on top of his bed, curled up like a little child. He sighed and quietly strode into the room, hovering above his resident.

He reached down, twirling the faded green-blonde curls in his fingers, staring at the younger man's lips.

He wondered…

Jack reached up, pushing Bruce's hand away and sighed. "You know… I called after you when I found out."

Ripped from his thoughts, Bruce shook his head. "I'm sorry, found out about…?"

Jack shrugged, "Pregnant."

He mouthed a silent 'oh'.

"Were you not ready for another story?"

Bruce shook his head, sitting himself down on the side of the bed, "No, no I am. If you are."

Jack nodded.

_After tossing up the contents of his breakfast for the sixth week in a row, Jack sat at the edge of his bathtub in the small motel, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Cupping his chin in his hand and staring down into the linoleum, he knew he had to seek medical attention. _

_He sits up, keeping a hand on his stomach to keep himself from getting sick on the carpet and picks up the cord phone, dialing the help button. _

_It rings twice before a woman picks up._

"_Rasta Inn on 6th, this is Courtney, how can I help you today?"_

_Jack clears his throat, trying his best to speak normally. "Ah, yes. This is…" He looks around the room, knowing better not to use his own name, looking to the television showing X-Files. "…Fox Mulder down at room 231B, could you bring me a recent Gotham phone book?"_

_He hears her sigh at the end, "Yeah, I'll get someone to bring it down to you." She hangs up before he can say anything else._

_Knowing soon he would have company, he moves back into the bathroom, overwhelmed by the smell of his own vomit, and stares into the mirror. He slides a hand through his thick, green stained blond hair, and pulls a baseball cap right over, tucking every stray hair into the cap. _

_He rubs his fingers over the prominent scars on his face, trying to decide what to do with them. _

_Suddenly he hears a loud banging on his door. _

_Here already?_

_He rushes to the door, looking through the peephole and sees a young, brunet girl holding up a yellow phone book, obviously not giving a shit about anything. _

_She knocks again._

"_Uh… I'll be there in a second!" _

_He ran into his room, searching madly through his belongings for something—anything to hide the scars. _

"_I'm not going to stand here all day…" _

_The door swung open, Jack panting through a bandana tied around his mouth and nose. The girl, Courtney gave him one look up and down. "Mister… Mulder?" _

"_Uh, yeah." He tried to smile, putting on the dumbest front. _

"_Here." She holds the phone book out at him, smacking her gum._

_Jack takes it, tucking it by his side. "Thanks. Don't uh, most inns have phone books in their guest rooms?"_

_She rolls her eyes, sniffing. "It smells like vomit in here."_

_Jack bites his lip. "Yeah, I got a little sick. You know, too much of the drink I guess."_

"_Whatever." She walks off, leaving him there._

_Jack sighs in relief, beyond surprised at himself, and slams the door. _

_Flipping through the pages rapidly, he looks for a name, muttering it to himself over and over and over again until he finds it. "Amy Kane, MD… Arnold Kane, Anthony, Beck Kane… Bill….Bill….. Bill…." _

_Bill Kane, MD__  
__(555)283-3821_

_He smiles, taking up the phone once more and dialing the number under his old friend's name. Ringing at least a dozen times, an automated voice message picks up. "We're sorry, the number you are trying to reach has been disconnected, please hang up and try-"_

_He slams the phone down onto the receiver, burying his face within his hands._

_Going to a second approach he pulls out a small notepad from his bag, plugging it into the receiver on the far side of the wall. He types the name into the search engine on the computer, instantly showing over a thousand 'Bill Kanes' on the browser. Finally after searching for nearly ten minutes, he finds the name. _

_He reads out the address, and quickly jots it down on an old receipt. _

_BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ._

_Releasing his index finger from the intercom, Jack leans in closely to listen. After ten seconds of hearing nothing, he presses the buzzer again. _

"_What? Jesus, hold your horses…" He hears a man on the other line. _

_As he waits, he looks around the tall apartment-set building, noticing a rusting name plate of "Dr. Bill Kane PHD" inscribed in worn brass. This better be fucking right. _

_He can sense the man is on the other side of the door, "Ya there?"_

"_Who is it? What do you want?"_

"_I'm looking for a Dr. Bill Kane."_

"_You have the wrong address, sir."_

_Jack sighs in frustration, "Open the damn door, I know it's you in there Kane."_

_There is a beat, then the husky voice replies, "You're mistaken, Kane has been retired for 3 years. We don't take any more patients."_

"_What about old friends?" He leans down to the mail box, seeing the old blue eyes from behind the small box. _

"_Who are you?"_

_He hesitates, then pulls down the sides of his bandana showing off the permanent smile engraved upon his face. _

"_Jack…" The man mutters, shutting the mailbox and rustling around with the chain lock on the door. The Joker looks around nervously, not sure of what to ask, or think. Never having any friends in his life, it was strange to feel so at home with someone he had barely known when taking a long stay at the Falcones._

_They come face to face, staring at each other silently for moments on end, each on the tips of their toes. "Jack….I, I… never thought I would see you again. I thought you were dead."_

_He smirks, "Yeah, so did everyone else. You want to let me in or what?"_

"_S-sure…" He backs up, allowing the deadly man into his house. _

"_I haven't seen you since you left Carmine. That was what, 5 years ago? I've seen you on the news a couple of times, Gotham has a way with keeping up with your theatrics, but since I read you were caught, it was like you disappeared."_

_Jack stares at the walls and all of the framed certificates of achievement surrounding the living room. "Don't remind me."_

_Nervous that Gotham's most wanted was inside his home, Kane backed into his kitchen, ready to pull out a knife if necessary. "So… what are you here for?"_

"_There's something wrong with me. I don't know what and it's been going on far too long. And we all know why I can't go to a doctor. You're the only one I could trust."_

_The old man fakes a smile. Trust, huh? Don't listen to him, Bill. He's just trying to manipulate you…_

_Jack peeks out of the corner of his eye, picking out the very motives that the old doctor was about to do. "Drop the knife, Kane. I'm not going to hurt you."_

_Caught guilty and ashamed, he shakily drops the kitchen knife back into the cupboard. Jack strides in, pulling out two knives, his wallet, and a revolver from his pants, placing them on the kitchen table right in front of Kane. He pulls out a chair, seating himself and looking back up to the man. _

"_I didn't come here to hurt you. After all, you have saved my life."_

_His expression softens as he looks down at all the weapons lying out on his table, realizing that Jack really was the young boy he used to know and care for. He smiles gently, seating himself across from the young man._

"_You know… I'm a retired old man now, Jack. I don't treat patients anymore, I don't do charity work. I'm happy just living here by myself, catching the news every morning and night at eleven." _

_Drawing circles into the wooden grain with his fingernails, he sighs deeply enough to cause his shoulders to shake. Something was obviously making the man very nervous. "What's been bothering you, Jack? You act as if you're dyin."_

"_I don't know what it is Kane, that's why I came to you."_

_He sighs. "Alright. Just this once. Tell me what's been going on."_

_Jack looks around, embarrassed that he was letting his guard down in front of someone after being so casually suave and menacing since he returned to Gotham. "I can't sleep, I can't eat. I just throw it all up even though I've gained weight. My whole fuckin body kills me and I don't feel like I can even go out anymore."_

"_Well, that's good." Jack glares at him. "…For the people."_

"_I can't take it anymore, I throw up when I wake up, after I eat, or even when I smell something weird."_

_Kane bites his lip, realization hitting him like a freight train. "Jack… how long has this been going on?"_

"…_About six weeks, give or take."_

_He folds his hands over the table, knowing that asking the next question could end in his death. "Don't be offended, but when was the last time you have had sexual intercourse?"_

_Jack looks up, staring him straight in the eye in disbelief. "Well…" He coughs nervously, "I raped some chick about two months ago."_

_Kane glares, "Not funny."_

"_Fine. Maybe… three months?"_

_His heart sinks into his gut, knowing that he would be the one putting his life on the line when he revealed the truth to Jack. He stands up, "Follow me."_

_Jack looks around the office, playing with every appliance in the room. "I thought you retired."_

_Kane is still shaking as he wheels in a large monitor machine, placing it right next to the gurney stored in his room. "I am retired I just never parted with any of my old things as you can see."_

"_What are you doing with that?"_

_He sighs, "I want to check something."_

_After plugging it into the wall, he motions for Jack to sit on the small bed. "Pull up your shirt."_

_Jack hesitates, becoming very uncomfortable and vulnerable, but does as he's told and yanks up the blue tee, staring down at his seemingly larger middle. Kane reaches to him, tapping his wrist. "Do you mind if I see?"_

"_As long as you find out what the fuck's wrong with me, I don't give a shit. Just make it fast." _

_He flinches as the old doctor's cold hands touch his abdomen, pushing down every so often. "Does it hurt?"_

"_I have a very high pain tolerance, Doc, if you haven't noticed."_

"_Sore?"_

_He nods. _

_He grabs a small remote, squirting a gel onto the end and places it upon his stomach. Jack bites the bottom of his lip, anticipating the bad news he knew that was about to come. The monitor comes alive as Kane searches through his body. _

_A steady thumping and squeaking is heard from the monitor._

"_Well, at least we all know you still have a heart."_

_The young man rolls his eyes as the old doctor moves the remote further down south. _

_Jack looks over as a black mass comes into the grainy screen. _

"_What the hell is that?"_

_Kane does not say a word, frozen stiff as he adjusts the picture as a small white, bean shaped object comes into the screen. Jack props himself upon his elbows, staring into the screen as his mouth drops. "What the hell is…" He trails off, knowing exactly what it is._

_The old man flips a switch and a second beating is heard, that of which is a lot faster and lighter. _

"_It's a… a.. an embryo…" _

_Jack turns to him, "A what…"_

"_You're… pregnant, Jack…"_

_A smile spreads upon the scarred face as he lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "And I thought my jokes were bad." He swats Kane's hand away sitting up from the bed, rubbing the gel off of his stomach. _

"_Get that fuckin thing away from me. You're… crazy."_

"_Jack, you and I both saw what was on the screen."_

"_Pregnant, doc? Has it not occurred to you that I'm a man?"_

"_I know it is difficult to believe, but it all makes sense. Morning sickness, fatigue, weight gain…"_

_Jack waves him off, clearly becoming upset. "No, you listen here, Kane. I'm not pregnant, that's a false fucking image, and you're just crazy. No wonder you're retired…" he mutters the last part to himself pulling on his jacket. _

"_You're pregnant, Jack. There are very few cases in which some men have the ability to carry a child full term and even give birth."_

_He shakes his head, beginning to laugh. "And they sent me to the nuthouse…" He starts to walk downstairs. _

"_This is not the first time this has happened, Jack. You were pregnant those years back when you were in training. You lost the baby around this same time and we both know this."_

_He stops, remembering everything from that day, and pulls up his shirt once again, running a hand over his expanding middle. He traces the small scar on his side. _

_He twists around, screaming upstairs, "You could have told me I was fucking dying and had 2 weeks to live and I would have been a helluva lot happier."_

_Kane dashes to the stairs as Jack swings open the front door. "Jack, don't do this! You need help!"_

_He gets the middle finger and the door slams behind him. _

* * *

Jack avoids the billionaire's gaze as he nibbles on the side of his lip. "That was the night I called out for you."

_Bruce Wayne always had hated watching the batsignal gleaming in the midnight sky; it always meant something was wrong or that Gordon wanted to give him another peptalk. This one was different as if it dripped rain from the bat's wings. As he pulled on his cowl, he knew it was going to be a long night._

_After nearly an hour of searching for the new source of the signal, he found himself atop of an abandoned warehouse on the other side of the city. _

"_Bats… Bats… come out to plaaaay…."_

_He leapt off of his motorcycle, stomping towards the Joker who called his name._

_The Joker turned around, looking somewhat different than before… "Oh, you've made it."_

_The first thing Bruce notices is his swagger, and the troubled expression upon his features. The second was the empty bottle of tequila lying at his feet. He is wearing an old, black Rob Zombie t-shirt and black jeans under the violet coat. Bruce almost smacks himself to make sure he is not dreaming._

"_What the hell are you doing?" Is the only thing that can come to his mind._

_The Joker smiles, staggering forward towards the Batman. "I wanted to see you."_

"_You're drunk…"_

_He shakes his head lazily, "No, I'm not."_

"_Yes, you are."_

"_Nuh-uh…"_

_Bruce sighed. 'I never thought I would ever see the day the Joker calls me out in the middle of the night in a drunken stupor. Arguing with drunk people is bad enough, why did it have to be him?'_

"Gotham Police Department are already on their way, Joker. What were you even planning, to get caught?"

_He stops to think for a minute, stumbling closer and closer to Bruce. "Sure, why not? Let's go to Arkham. They have nice beds there, y'know…"_

"_Shut up."_

"_I don't wanna shuddap… you shut the hell up, Batsy." He reaches into his pockets, grabbing for the knives he had stored in there earlier when his hand only finds the cotton fibers on the lining of his jacket. He stares down in disbelief at his hand as he is knocked—hard—to the concrete top of the building._

_He groans, attempting to rub the back of his head before he is yanked up by the lapels of his coat, staring the caped man straight in the eyes. "What did you do that for…?"_

_Batman snorts, "You reek of alcohol."_

"_Do I…?" He looks around, oblivious._

"_Why did you call me here?"_

_The Joker smirks, "Aw, Bats… I just wanted to see ya. Do I need a special occasion or reason behind it?"_

_He throws him to the ground once more, stomping away. Jack sits up, rubbing the side of his head, watching drearily as the Batman leaves. "Where'ya going?"_

_Batman does not even turn to him as he mounts his bike. "Gotham PD is here to take you away, for good."_

_Jack rolls his eyes as he watches the Caped Crusader leave him stranded on top of the abandoned building. He sighs heavily, staring into the concrete. He knew he was going back to Arkham, and whether they cared or even knew that he was pregnant or not, he did not care. He believed he did not need a baby or anything pestering his insides for that matter._

_He shuts his eyes, leaning back as he awaits the police, when something touches his fingertips. He pries it from the ground and struggles to read the fine print on the small card with 'Bruce Wayne' written in black ink._

_He stares at it for a minute, remembering what the name even meant to him._

_'Huh… that spoiled billionaire down the street? What the hell has he got to do with anything, maybe he has a pact with Batman. Or supports him… maybe…just…'_

_Jack smiles as he puts everything together, tossing the card to the ground as __he falls into a fit of laughter as the department surrounds him._

* * *

End of chapter 8, thank GOD I updated, I'm sorry! I'll have the next one up within the day or week! Promise!


	9. Exposure

**Scars We Share: Chapter 9**

Yay! I updated! You know what, I'll just go ahead with the fiction, read and review please? :)

Disclaimer: I own Felipe, but not like anyone is gonna notice or care... so...

_Here..._

_We..._

_Go!_

* * *

_It was dark, the sirens screamed through the night, everything was on alert at the news that the prime captive had escaped once again. Nicknamed 'Houdini' by the guards and always feared by the patients he had been the most famous of them all._

_As the guards made their rounds around Arkham, switching shifts, he took it as his last opportunity to leave the institution for good as he forested through the trees making his way home to his city. _

_As the blue lights flashed in the long distance behind him, he dug into his back pocket for a small phone he had taken from a 'former' employee of Arkham Asylum. With a low amount of battery life, he dialed one number as he struggled to remember its code._

_He sighed a breath of relief as it began to ring._

"_Hello?"_

"_Kane, do you have a car?"_

"_Jack? I thought you wer-" _

"_Doesn't matter, I need your help."_

"_Wh-where are you?"_

"_Ah… the south side of Arkham, in the forest. I can't get out by myself, and…"_

"_Jack, what the hell is going on?"_

"_I'll explain later, please…" He sighs, looking around for anyone that could possibly find him. "Hurry up." _

"_Jesus, Jack. You almost gave me a heart attack. Come on, get in." _

_Looking both ways before exiting his hiding spot between the bushes, he climbed into the passengers seat, looking down at himself as he unzips a coat he had borrowed._

_Halfway between driving and hyperventilating, Bill Kane looked down to see what he had feared. "You kept it…"_

_He nodded, laying his hands on his swollen middle. "It's not something I can let die again, Kane…" He chewed on the edges of his fingernails, avoiding gaze by attempting to find something out there in the dark to focus on. The situation still embarrassed him to no end._

_Kane shook his head, unable to take his eyes off of the child inside of the man. "I'm… glad you chose to keep it, Jack." _

_The Joker nodded, staring out of the windows as they left the premises outside of Gotham, headed back to his home. He dug into his pockets, pulling out a manilla piece of paper and tossing it on the dashboard of the car. "It's for you, Kane. I need you to read it when the time is right.."_

_The old man reached for it, but a cold hand swatted his.  
_

"_Not now, Kane. You'll know."_

"_How can you be sure?"_

_Jack rested his hand on top of the older man's as he drew in a deep breath, "Trust me."_

* * *

"So you knew."

"Yep."

"The whole time?"

"Well, technically up until that point…" He bit his lip, "Yes I did."

"You didn't tell anyone?"

Jack raised his hands, somewhat offended at the sudden game of twenty questions Bruce gave him after finding out about the Joker's secret life. "Obviously. You don't have people banging on your front door, do ya?" He gave an annoyed sneer, bundling himself up in the covers. "I might be this _thing _you guys at the MCU always talk about, but I'm still human."

Bruce caught his sarcasm, taking it in as an invitation to do so as well. "As far as we know, I mean you have been pregnant." _Who knows… you could be some alien from a distant world. _

He closed his brown eyes, trying not to recall those certain events. "You can trust me, Bruce. We've already been over this a billion times, I've kept my mouth shut."

The billionaire nodded in approval. "You spoke to nobody about this?"

His heart stopped, remembering it all. _Oh no…_

"Jack." Bruce grabbed his shoulder. "You didn't say my name, did you?"

No comment.

The billionaire could barely breathe, searching the young man's face for any answer. His only response was the pale, guilty expression written on his features. "Jack. You have to tell me."

The blond bit his lip, "Only one person knows that I'm here."

Bruce released his grip, scanning his eyes all over the room in case there were any extra visitors that the Joker had invited into his home. He licked his dry lips, attempting to keep a calm composure against the rapid beating of his heart.

He took a deep breath, "Who." It was not a question—it was a demand. He was pissed.

Jack looked down, "Kane. Bill Kane."

Bruce almost laughed, "Wh-who the hell is Bill Kane?"

"He's… a guy." _Proves you pay no attention to detail._

The rage boiled deep within, erupting like a volcano. "Who the hell is he?" He stood rapidly, knocking the large chair over. Jack barely flinched, keeping it behind his teeth. "Jack!"

His black eyes shot open, boring them into the billionaire's glare. "The only man I can trust in this entire world. The man who saved my life." He broke eye contact, "I trust him to not cause any harm."

Exasperated and beyond thinking clearly, Bruce wheezed out, running his hands through his dark hair, pulling his hair back. _Jesus Christ, Jack. You can't keep doing these things, one of these days I'm gonna kill you! _

…_.Is what I'd really like to say._

"I'm just gonna pretend that I trust you right now. He won't do any harm?" He repeated.

Jack rolled his eyes, "He's a 70 year old man, for fuck's sake. He wouldn't hurt a fly."

"And how can I be sure I can still trust you?"

He shrugged, staring up at the billionaire. "I've told you the truth the entire time, Bruce."

Bruce strode over to the glass door leading to the balcony, still unable to meet his gaze. "But there are things you haven't told me, correct?"

Jack stared at him.

"Tell me right now, Jack. What the hell happened that night…"

"You're gonna have to be more specific…"

Bruce twisted around, "Don't pull that shit on me! You know which night I mean."

A deep growl erupted from Jack's throat as he stood up, nearly barking out loud. "What, like you think that night is something easy to talk about?" He stood his ground as he walked up to Bruce, coming face to face with the brunet man.

"I would expect so, yes. As you've already been courteous enough to share every other story with me."

Jack shook his head in disbelief. "You think it's so simple… is my life a fucking game to you? A bedtime story?"

Bruce waved his hand in defense, "Now, I didn't mean it like that…"

"Then what…?"

About to burst into a rage again, his eye caught Jack's deep brown eyes, seemingly softer than before. His mouth hung slack, as he stared at Bruce. It was not anger, rage, or even content. He was…hurt. "You don't understand anything…" He muttered, sitting himself on the edge of his bed.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking down at Jack, softening. He knelt down and rested his hand on the blond's knee, attempting to give a small smile. "Then help me understand…" Jack avoided his gaze. "I can only judge by what you tell me, Jack. It's not my fault I don't understand because you do not tell me. How am I supposed to know?"

Jack sighed, shaking his head. "No, you're right…"

_I'm sorry, Bruce…_

_But there are some things you cannot know. _

* * *

"_My wife is on vacation in Portugal for the next three weeks, could you drop by at some point today? I would like to speak with you."_

"_Y-yeah, that's fine. Quarter to six."_

"_Fine."_

_The young man flipped his phone off, replacing it in his coat. He glanced down at himself, taking a deep breath at what he saw. The past few months had definitely changed his physical appearance and no longer merited him the image of his feet. The impending weeks to come had arrived too fast, too quick to adapt and get ready._

_For once in his life, he was unprepared and anxious about the end and what he had to do. Briefly adjusting his clothing and untucking his shirt, he stared at himself in the mirror, twisting and turning around. _

_Great. I look pregnant._

_He patted himself down, and leaned in close to get a look at himself. He traced the bare scars on his face, debating to cover them up or let them be the last memory Mario Falcone would see…_

_Jack leaned back, attempting to stretch his sore back and looked at the time._

_5:10. _

_Showtime._

_He rocked back and forth on his heels, heart on the verge of exploding from his breast and stomach churning. In hindsight, he wonders where the giant German bodyguard had been. It had certainly been months since he last visited the youngest Falcone and the inevitable was about to happen. He gripped the knife in his pocket tightly, ready for anything._

_He bit his lip, and knocked twice, heart stopping._

_He waited the longest thirty seconds of his life before a young Italian opened the door for him. _

"_Go on, Felipe. He's fine."_

_Jack glared at the tan boy, taking note he would not be alone at this certain time. Fighting the urge to look around, he relied on his gut feeling. There were three—no, four men in the room, excluding Falcone and himself._

_He stole a sudden glance at the kid's waist, noting a strange bulge on the side. A gun. _

"_Ah, hello Jack!"_

_He flinched at the mention of his name, giving a faux smile in acknowledgement. The man was dead to him. _

_Just get straight to it._

"_What did you need this time?"_

_Mario escorted him to the couch, barely noticing any change in the blond's figure. He looked to his men, giving them a signal to leave. _

_Perfect._

_Jack watched them leave the room, fingers never leaving the cool metal concealed within his palm. He leaned forward, attempting to camouflage his obvious weight gain. Mario took a seat next to him, draping his arm over the young man's shoulders._

_He tensed under the Italian's touch. _

"_Well, Jack. Has nobody told you?"_

"_Told me what?" He faked interest, rolling his eyes._

"_My father died last week."_

_Jack blinked. Well, that would explain the extra security… _

"_He died?"_

"_Mmm. Carmine fought cancer for two years and you are currently looking at the President of the business, Jack!" He grinned widely._

_Jack's expression did not even twitch. "President of mercenaries is more like it."_

_Mario stoked his blond curls, ignoring the previous statement and leaned in close. "Be honest, Jack. Do you really come for the money anymore?" He was a sleazy, mad, disgusting man._

_He growled, "Get your hands off of me."_

_The Italian blinked, removing his hands, only for a second. "I beg your pardon?"_

"_You heard me the first time. Get your fucking hands off of me." His poisonous eyes dug into the dark haired man's black heart, causing him to withdraw. He stood from surprise; no, he couldn't! Not now!_

"_You mean… to leave again?"_

_Jack looked up to him from resting upon his elbow and nodded, "Yes."_

"_That is non-tolerable, Jack. I will not allow it."_

_Jack giggled, suddenly becoming amused and leaned back against the couch just to watch Mario act as if it were a bad soap opera. "Oh, really then. How so?"_

"_You need me…" _

_He burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Need you? Oh, please. I haven't used your money for anything but supplying my men with alcohol and prostitutes, only indulgences. You believe that I need your money? I could walk down the street earning more than you do in a month."_

_His expression switched quickly from shock to rage, reaching for the gun in the back of his trousers. _

"_I wouldn't do that if I were you…"_

_Mario took a sharp breath inwards, cold steel pressed against his throat with the Joker mere inches from his face. He winched as Jack yanked his hair back, attempting to find those black eyes. "Y-you know I could call my men in an instant and your blood would be my new wallpaper."_

_He mouthed an 'oh', finding it all very funny._

"_I made you. And I can break you just as easily." He yanked the gun from his pants, pushing the younger man away from him and cocking his pistol. Jack recoiled in surprise; his reflexes slower than a few months before. Mario felt a warm liquid drip into his collar, wiping fresh blood off of his neck. _

_Jack shook his head, blinking his eyes quickly; the world seemed to fog rather rapidly, but he had succeeded. Mario's blood glinted brightly upon his knife. _

"_How… dare you…" He exasperated, rage tinkering into madness as the blond's actions got too hasty._

_The thing inside him kicked out, momentarily stealing his focus from the oncoming blow to the back of his head. The butt of the pistol cracked and he fell to the floor groaning in response. _

"_You come here… to leave, to betray…" he walked up to the man on the floor, wiping the blood away from his neck—a mere scratch to what he had in mind for the boy. "and to admonish me of your powers? Look at you…" He shook his head as Jack struggled to regain full consciousness, head pounding._

"_Take a goddamn, good look at yourself Ja…" he trailed off, noticing something… different. As he wobbled to his feet, Jack subconsciously held his middle, much more protruding and rounder than usual… _

_He rubbed his eyes, intent on the strange thing, and followed up Jack's body till he met his stare. _

"_You…" _

_Jack gritted his teeth together, knowing he made a mistake in coming to the office. _

"_What the hell is this?"_

_Shit._

"_I SAID-"_

_A bodyguard peeked his head in the doorway, "Is everything alright in here s-" He was immediately interrupted by a butterfly knife embedded in between his eyes, falling to the ground._

_Jack's mind caught up to him; Mario's rage was just the glint of distraction he needed to catch them all off guard. He reached for the nearest object—a letter opener upon the president's desk and stabbed it into the Italian's hand and into the hardwood floor they stood upon._

_He screamed in pain, but cut short as a combat boot met the side of his head, knocking him sideways and yanking the pistol from his fingers. _

_As the body guards were immediately alerted by their master's screams, they pooled into the place, guns wielded. He yanked back the hammer, firing two rounds into the youngest's throat and shoulder, the next dead on, and the other fired one shot before being greeted by lead in his chest._

"_Ahn!" Jack winced, dropping the pistol as he gripped at the side of his arm. The round grazed deeply, singing his skin in the process. _

_He clenched his teeth tightly looking down at Mario._

_He panted out, "You were saying?"_

_Caught between hyperventilating and dialing his phone for help, he screamed. "I'll have you.. and that fucking thing killed before you can blink!"_

_Jack nodded, shaking the blood from his new jacket. "Thought so…" he muttered before taking his leave, stepping over the bodies._

* * *

TEE-HEE! We're caught up. I had no idea the last time I updated this was such a long time ago! I'm so sorry! Haha time flies, eh? Well let me know what you think, check out moonstruck because its got a new chapter as well and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter so review please! More stuff will be revealed. We are in the second half of this fiction, only a few more chapters left and we'll be done!

Ps: yes, I know it jumps around from time to time. Months passed within one chapter, but don't worry you'll get to know what else happened those few months as well!

Love you guys, thank you~!


	10. That Night

**Scars We Share: That Night  
**

I know I have an excuse for like everything xD But my computer crashed (again) and this time wasn't able to be restored, so I had to transfer all my files again and typing on this new computer is ridiculous and absolutely terrible xD but here ya go :)

Btw... I dont own anything :)

* * *

"Jack."

Bruce snatches up the Joker's arm, holding it in a vice as a means to make him speak. "Tell me everything that happened on that night."

Dark eyes pierce deep into the billionaire's soul, but they were not full of anger or hatred. Behind them was a cloud of sadness. The Joker twists away and his hands fall to his flat stomach as if the child was somehow still present. He shuts his dark rimmed eyes.

"I was headed back home after making sure the boys had been doing their correct duties in place of my absence…

_It was already late at night and I doubted anyone would notice me walking in between alley ways back to the narrows. It just seemed like a normal night and I felt safe because the Gotham Police Department changes shifts at ten and the night shifts are usually lazy. It had been two weeks since I left Mario Falcone and his manipulation web._

_But as I made my way back to our home, there were cruisers all over the place and my boys were being escorted out at gunpoint. I already knew what had happened; my plan turned on itself. _

_I knew I couldn't be caught in that situation or condition so I ran. They say a loyal dog will give up its life for its owner. Mine proved not to be so reliable. They had seen me and given away my position. The guns were pointed towards me and I had no choice but to run._

_I ran back towards Gotham, and a squad of a dozen officers followed me with their dogs hot on my heels. They yelled at me over microphones but I could barely understand them; I was too focused on getting away, and then they opened fire. _

_I could not even hear the noise of the gun, but when I twisted around at the flash of light, a 9mm caught me in the side. I saw myself falling, but my feet saved me and I ran behind the nearest dumpster._

_I waited until they passed by and continued._

_There was an explosion behind me and I saw my home erupting in flames. _

_I ran again, and then…_

I started to go into labor."

Bruce sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. "They destroyed your home…"

"Yeah…

_They took away everything, just as I had taken away lives. It was only fair for me and I deserved it all. I just did not agree then. There was no pain, but I felt a strange cramp in my side and I knew I had to get out of there. So I called you." _

"What happened after you hung up?"

"I-I didn't hang up, I lost connection. _And then you took me to your place. _

_After settling me in, I set up the bed. I didn't want to make a mess, I am polite and have morals…_

_He tied his belt around the iron board and hooked his arms into it, pulling down as leverage to help ease the pain. He spread his legs out to create more room, tucked his chin into his chest and pushed as hard as he could, letting out a small groan._

_After a few seconds, he took a deep breath, trying again. He switched positions multiple times, trying to rid himself of the thing inside him._

_I knew I needed help, but my nerve did not let me merit assistance._

_He whipped a hand over his sweaty brow, readying himself for the next contraction. He wrapped a wrist up in the leather belt, and held on tightly with the other as he strained against the binds, giving it his all. Teeth clenched tightly, he cried out as the pain became almost unbearable. _

_Tears pooled in his eyes as he attempted to keep his tranquility against the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep gulp of air and wheezed out. _

_His whole frame shook after the contraction passed, wheezing into his shoulder. _

_I can't do this… Bruce!_

_A sharp whine escaped his scarred lips, beginning to hyperventilate against the hurt and binds. "Fuuuuuck…!" Strangely, cursing seemed to help. _

_He struggled for what seemed like hours and buried his melting face into the feather pillow, nearly screaming into its fibers. It was there, and it would not accept any other way out. He could feel it dropping and the sudden singe of pain boring into him. _

_Only… a few more…_

_The battle exhausted him to no end, sweat glazed his tiring body as grey tears trailed down his face. _

_Again…_

_He arched his back, chin resting on his chest as the last few swept through his body. _

_And again…_

_He could feel his body tear into two._

_One more…_

_He fell onto his side in the sinking mattress, eyes shut and fingers loosening their grip upon the sheets. It's comfort nearly halted his thumping heart, unable to grasp reality through his arbitrary thoughts. It was over. He panted, nearly choking when fighting to catch his breath. The pain was gone. He lay still for moments, debating whether or not to let himself die. _

_But the eerie silence kept him at bay, shaking as he turned himself over. He felt sick as he looked at the strange thing lying between his legs. Jack quickly took a peek around the room, hoping something or someone would appear to tell him what to do._

_He sucked on his lip as he reached for it, touching its tiny hand, still warm and pink. He drew back quickly, heart stopping. He snatched up his shoe, lying on the floor and began to unlace it, nearly breaking it off in the process. _

_He twisted it around the cord, when his eyes crossed over the little face._

_No…_

Jack licked his dry lips, "The cord… was wrapped around its neck. It suffocated before it was even…" he trailed off, shaking the thought from his mind.

Bruce looked down, subconsciously taking up the boy's hand. Guilt spread over his face for accusing him of killing his own child. "I'm… so, sorry Jack…"

He quickly shook his head. "Don't say that, it's fine."

The brunet looked up to him, trying to search his face for any sign of hurt or pain. "It wasn't your fault, Jack. These things happen."

Jack shook his head again, holding up a hand to keep Bruce from talking. "I know." He whispered.

"_No, no, come on…" He tapped the pink face, watching the little chest for movements after tearing the cord away from both of them. There was no response from the little one, his child. _

_His voice cracked, "Come on…" _

_He leaned in, gently plugging the little nose, attempting to push air into the premature lungs. He broke away, panting and wiping his face as realization struck him like a bullet to the heart. _

_Jack whipped his head around frantically, quickly grabbing his phone from his coat pockets—dead. "No, come on.." He tapped his phone, stealing glances to the still being lying before him._

_Please…!_

_He took a deep breath, covering his mouth with a bloody palm and squeezed his eyes shut. "God dammit…" he cried out, wiping his face from the hot tears running down his scarred cheeks. _

_The blond boy took one of the warm, white bath towels bundling up the wee child in them, cleaning off the perfect, unscarred face and soft lips. The still babe was perfect, a stunning image of everything he had never expected. He wrapped up the infant gently, taking it into his arms as he leaned against the bed frame, studying its features._

_Dark hair feathered upon its tiny crown, still matted flat from the blood and fluid. Its body was barely the size of a doll, as tiny and precious as he could ever visualize. He snuck a finger towards the little fists, hoping—praying the baby would reach out and grasp his finger. I waited for any sign of life._

_I waited a long time._

* * *

"I-I didn't kill it…" Jack shook his head up and down, holding back the lump in his throat. A sour feeling in the pit of his stomach twisted inside him at the word, shutting his eyes. He let his head fall; the reminiscence of the night tearing at his heart.

"I didn't…" He trailed off, keeping himself from looking at Bruce.

The billionaire's mouth hung agape, nearly on the edge of tears. He did not try to smile, did not try to reassure him. Bruce Wayne did not say a word as he watched his friend begin to cry…

He rested his face into his hands as he started to sob.

Bruce quietly sat himself next to the young man, hesitating… and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Jack reluctantly leaned in, curling his arms around his empty middle.

_Oh, Jack… I'm so sorry, I had no idea…_

The words failed to escape his lips as he held the kid tightly, hoping he would speak soon.

He reached under Jack's chin, gently lifting it away from his chest, to look at the tear stained features. "It's alright, Jack…" The gentle, chocolate eyes gazed up at him. "You don't have to act like everything is okay."

Jack lightly grasped the base of Bruce's neck, bringing him in closer, close enough to brush his lips on the tan skin upon the side of his jowl. Warm breath upon his body caused him to shiver, and Bruce held his breath as he drew away, ashamed and staring down at his hands.

Bruce reassured him with a squeeze on the shoulder, inviting him into his open arms. He fell to the thick mattress, locking his arms around the boy with no intent of ever letting go. The blond curled himself up into the warm embrace, laying his head in the crook of the billionaire's shoulder.

He exhaled, shuddering as he did so. "Bruce…"

"Yeah?"

"Can you do something for me?"

Bruce looked down to the nearly sleeping figure resting on his chest. "Anything."

Jack smiled softly, blindly groping for the warm hands he missed around his body. He intertwined his fingers within the billionaire's. "Stay here with me, right now. At least until I fall asleep…"

"Then I'll stay."

"All night?"

"All night."

* * *

Shuddering into consciousness, he glanced around the dark room from the strange disturbance that had stolen him from a sound slumber. Sensing that they remained the only beings in the room, he felt an unusual weight upon himself attempting to adjust his eyes to the darkness. Fumbling in the dim light, he found the warm arm draped over his thinning middle.

He sighed, removing the intruding hand from him and rubbing the blur from his eyesight. Sitting up slowly, he looked over to the analogue alarm clock. 4:22am.

_Great._

Carefully swinging his legs over the side of the mattress he grabbed his cell phone next to the clock, suddenly feeling lonely. No messages, no missed calls. A sick feeling sunk into the pit of his stomach.

_Great._

He turned towards the sound brunet lying in his bed, fast asleep before removing himself from the warm covers and greeting the cold floor. Eyes pried halfway open, he led himself into the bathroom, blindly finding the light switch.

Stumbling into the room, he barely shut the door before clutching his belly and releasing its contents into the toilet below. After coughing, gagging, and spitting, he sank to the tile floor, rubbing his brow on his forearm.

_Fucking great._

The billionaire stirred at the sound of running water, slowly opening his eyes. "Jack…? What are you doing…" He groaned into his pillow.

He flicked the light off, striding into the room and leaning over the bed. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

Caught between needing more time to rest and questioning the Joker of his every move, he sighed and fell back into his dreams.

Reluctantly settling himself back into the king sized bed, he tucked his legs under the sheets and curled against the billionaire's warm body.

"Jack…"

"What?"

"Can I ask you something…" His voice was barely audible from speaking into his own pillow.

Jack nodded, "Yeah."

Bruce tiredly tripped over his own words, "I keep having these dreams and thoughts so I wondered. Why did you keep it?"

The words felt like daggers in his heart, and buried his face under the comforter. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah…"

Taking a long breath, he turned over to face Bruce, taking a hold of his hands. "I guess I just waited until it was too late."

"What do you mean?" he whispered.

"I-I never acknowledged it, I tried not to think about it, I just completely ignored it as if I could just go on with my life without it ever bothering me. But of course it did catch up to me…

_I laid there in Arkham; I would stare at the ceilings every night before I could finally catch some rest. They moved me from the prison to a more hospitable place. I had my own room, a bed, and with little freedom I could wander the halls with the aid of an official. _

_They watched me like hawks, but they were blind to what they never noticed."_

"Your weight gain?"

"Yes.

_I was still able to hide it in the first weeks I was there, but as my freedom expanded, so did I. I refused any treatments, threw up the drugs they gave me, even my appetite took a turn on its own heels. It seemed normal to me. I wanted to believe I was getting better instead of being the way I was._

_There were days I thought about it, and days it never occurred to me that I would be a parent into only months time. The thought never seemed to irk me until one night._

Picking at the last bit of crumbs in the empty potato chip bag, his growing belly still growled for more. He sighed. _Guess I'll be going to bed hungry tonight. Again._ He leaned back on the far wall, bundling himself up in the cotton blankets.

He curls himself up, extending one leg and rolling onto his stomach, instantly becoming uncomfortable.

He growled out, "God dammit." Flipping himself onto his side. The new thing inside him definitely was a pest and was very problematic. He sighed, nervously running his hands down his body until they cupped around the new bump where his abs used to be.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he traced his fingers around it, curiously feeling what he had feared.

"You… are very inconvenient, little beast."

A sudden… flutter caught him off guard. He sat up suddenly, looking down at himself and then around the room, obviously alone. Carefully, he laid his palm back on his side, slowing his breathing to listen.

Another swift movement startled him, searching his body for another.

He drew back as something pushed against his palm.

The being was restless, attempting to make more space in its tiny home. Jack laid both hands on top, staring off in the distance. There would be flutters, stretching, and small kicks from the inside of his body.

It was alive.

Heart nearly coming to a screeching halt, he removed his hands as he felt the babe inside him turn around and fight some invisible being elsewhere. Falling onto his back, he bit his knuckle.

Jack shook his head, beginning to laugh.

"I'm…" _…Pregnant._

_Kane was right. About everything. _

_I was pregnant all those years ago. _He chewed on his nails. _It all makes sense. The morning sickness, weight gain, and fatigue. Falcone… killed it before I even knew. But I didn't forget. This… thing. It's real. It's alive. _

_26 weeks ago was the last time Falcone and I had an arrangement._

_26 weeks ago, you were made._

_11 weeks ago, I found out about you and I was placed in this hellhole._

_6 weeks ago you made yourself visible._

_4 weeks ago you started to move. I thought it was just dyspepsia. _

_Today… you became mine. _

_Today, I became your father, your mother, your aunt, your uncle, your protector, your guardian, your family._

He wiped the wetness around his eyes, sitting in a cross legged position, fingers curling around his middle again.

_Your father doesn't know you. Your father will not be there. Your father… will never be allowed near you. And if he tries to touch you… _

_I'll kill him. _

He bit his bottom lip, chewing on the vertical scar running down the middle of his face. He drew his fingers through his dirty curls as the thought faulted his mind. Bringing his knees to his chest, he bent himself over to scan his surroundings.

_No._

_I can't._

_I'm not this person…_

_I'm a wanted man. A fugitive stuck in an institution. _

_I can't take care of you baby. _

_But I can get you out of here._

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Medicine time. He readjusted his clothing, moving himself out of the cot and peeked his head out of the small, square window on his door.

He smiled.

…That's why I escaped."

Bruce squeezed his hand as reassurance. "You did everything you could, Jack. You tried as much as anyone. You owe it to yourself, you know?" he was lost in his own words, tripping and stumbling over himself. He never thought the Joker would be so… compassionate about anything.

"I know."

Closing his eyes as the urge to sleep overcame him, Jack nuzzled himself in closer to Bruce, yearning for the warmth of the billionaire's arms around him. Shifting his body closer, he rested his head upon Bruce's shoulder, sighing in satisfaction.

He smiled tenderly, carefully tucking each stray blond hair away from the boy's face, and leaned in, pressing his lips to his temple, the tip of his nose, and against the scarred lip.

Hesitating for a moment, Jack lay still and reached up the caress the long, brown locks and cradled the brunet's lips in his own.

The brunet responded to the kiss, allowing for the younger man to invade his body, turned his head and ran his tongue over the scarred lower lip. Underneath, Jack tensed slightly and hesitantly took Bruce into his arms, enveloping the warm body within his grasp.

As their dance in the dark accelerated, the brunet could feel Jack shake underneath him. He broke off and sighed, tearing himself away from the young man.

"J-Jack…why are you doing this?"

He sat up, adjusting his shirt and avoiding the billionaire's eyes. "What do you mean…?"

Bruce bit his lip, "You don't have to do this for me, Jack. I want you to want it, not feel obligated to do it to please me."

Jack tilted his head to the side, looking away. "I don't want you to force yourself, I'm not Mario."

He traced his bottom lip with the tips of his fingers, still tingling and warm from the billionaire's upon his. "I'm sorry…"

Shaking his head, Bruce sat back next to him. "You don't need to be sorry, it was my fault, I didn't-"

"No." Jack interrupted him, snaking his hand around the burnet's shoulder. He stared up at him, the Joker's eyes piercing deep within his body. "I mean, _I'm sorry._"

Before he could even flinch, he felt a sudden sting in the back of his neck, a small groan escaping his lips. Vision blurring, he fell forward into Jack, unconscious.

Looking down into his lap at the suddenly asleep billionaire, Jack removed the small syringe and needle from his body and tossed it aside.

"Sorry, but I can't have you following me on this one."


	11. Vengeance

**Scars We Share**

_So, some of my documents were deleted from which actually included a few of the new chapters, which I had only written online. I tend to make bad choices, but I don't quite understand why we have a 60 day limit on how long we can keep a document for ourselves? Anyways, writing has gotten VERY annoying lately. The way my computer is set up, is the mouse pad sits right where your left palm sits... so occasionally it will randomly click something and/or delete an entire paragraph or start typing in the middle of another sentence and I have no clue how to make it stop._

_Ugh. Well I had to completely re-write these chapters, sooooo... here we go. *DEEP SIGH*_

* * *

The 98' Ford Explorer crunched upon the damp gravel, pulling into the turn about entrance to the mansion. Built in 1942, the Falcone Residence was home to Vincent Falcone, the man responsible for _The Roman _and Gotham's hard-ended mobscene. The remaining heir to the Italian mob's throne as none other than the last in the bloodline, Mario. Fuming to himself in the office, he massaged his temple with his dominant hand, the other wrapped in gauze from the Joker's nice handiwork. The pressure and fear of knowing the deadly man was still alive held him at the edge of his seat, planning his ideas of revenge and killing him in cold blood.

He had never contemplated the idea of his own death until the Joker fired off shots at every one of his guards, knowing the clown could twist upon his heels and spit a 9mm piece of lead into his cranium. The Italian cringed at the thought of being shot, and the levels of consciousness a victim would endure before finally choking on their own blood or having their brain matter and skull fragments decorate the walls.

If he died, what would happen to the Falcone crime family?

_Who would take the money?_

_I could leave it to Paolo...  
_

_No, no-The rat would take it all and run.  
_

_My family?  
_

_Would anyone avenge my death? Of course someone would...  
_

He pulled his tan lips into a thin smile, mentally reassuring himself that someone would eventually step up to the throne. Between his own musings and self preservation he had failed to hear the barely audible clank of metal from outside his mansion...

* * *

_The Night Before...  
_

The young man shivered against the late night gusts of wind, reaching below freezing this early in the morning. Frozen fingers wrestled with the jingling keys in his bare hands, unlocking the motel room door and stepped into an equally freezing room. The dying light bulb flickered on, everything that had been deserted remained in its place. Knowing his time was running scarce, he shoved all the loose objects that littered the floor- cigarette boxes, wads of dollar bills, makeup tubes, and several shirts and socks into duffel bags.

Jack dragged the heavy bags out of the room and into his 'borrowed' car. Groaning at the effort, his arm brushed his side.

He carefully pulled off his shirt, locating the edge of the sticky wrap and ripping it from its place. Gently removing the soggy bandage from his side, he peeled back the bandages to stare at the purple, swollen area where he had been shot. The sutures were almost finished holding his body together on their way to a healing process. The blond pulled another shirt over his head, moving slowly as to not disturb the area, the loose fabric hanging freely off of his shoulders.

He gave his figure a glimpse in the mirror.

He had seen worse days, but examined the body that had been victim to a full term pregnancy. His collar bones and shoulders seemed to jut out of the skin holding them together, his tan complexion dull and weathered. The image was near frightening, yet he shook it from his mind. He wasn't dead, yet.

Crumpling up the tail of his shirt he pulled the fabric taut, turning to the side to stare at his ever-changing figure. His abdomen stretched further than what he'd prefer, still prominent that something had been there.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he finishes dressing, adjusting his signature violet coat over his shoulders._  
_

_"What do you want to do, Robert? I can't change anything about it, if I would I could..."  
_

_"I know that..."  
_

_"I just don't know what to do anymore. My body... won't allow it."  
_

_"We could go see Emmerson again, try again-"  
_

_"No!... No. I don't know... maybe doing this isn't a good idea. If God-"  
_

_"Fuck what god thinks! It's not fair!"  
_

The Joker stops applying the black smudge paint from around his eyes, hearing the barely audible conversation on the other side of the drywall.

_"We can do this... we can do this, alright Sarah?" _

He hears sobbing, indiscernible to who it comes from. Turning his attention to the makeup, he lets his mind wander...

* * *

**WAYNE Manor**

His eyes snapped open as the first wave of nausea tore him from the induced stupor, barely able to locate the bedside trash bin in time before heaving his sour insides out.

After relieving himself he ran his fingers through sweaty brown tendrils of hair, wiping away the perspiration collecting at his hairline. "Oh, God..." He groaned, setting the soiled container on the floor before recognizing his situation. "Jaaa-ck!" Bruce called out still squeezing the salty tears from his eyes. Blinking away at the first blurry vision, he scanned the room.

His voice strained from his burning throat and dribbly lips, "Jack...?"

Earning no answer, he shrugged it off desperate to fetch himself a glass of water.

The reflection in the mirror startled him, unbelieving that the ghostly, sick figure staring back was himself.

"What the hell happened to me...?" He mouthed to himself, more than shocked. Deep maroon bags hung below his usual glittery gaze, lips chapped and bearing the remains of what lay in the trash bin. Sweaty and still light-headed, he rolled his neck back having the slightest hope that stretching would somehow wake him from this cosmetic nightmare.

_"J-Jack... why are you doing this?"_

_"What do you mean?"  
_

_"You don't have to do this for me, Jack. I want you to want it, not feel obligated to please me.  
_

_I'm not Mario."  
_

The words from the previous night swirled in his foggy mind, unable to recall anything after those words. _Wait-JACK! _The billionaire tore himself from his reflection to searching the bedroom once more, flinging the comforter off of his bedspread, twisting on his heels to run down the hallway.

"Alfred!"

He stopped to swing open two more bathroom doors to find them empty as well.

The balcony!

Swinging open the French doors to an empty Gotham skyline, he panicked.

Struggling through the house on a pair of jello legs, he hastily searched every room and window for the young man he had grown to love. A tight feeling bubbled up his throat into a cough-sob. His entire frame shook, the reality of the situation sucking his energy and thoughts into a mocking black hole.

_He's gone..._

_He's fucking gone...  
_

_I should have known.  
_

A timid voice in the back of his mind assumed the shoulder angel who cried out to him: _Don't think like that... he's probably... just-_

"...You should never underestimate that friend of yours." Alfred Pennyworth parked himself in the threshold of the living room, catching his frantic young master's attention. A small, nearly unnoticeable grin twitched at the corners of his lips, an apologetic and guilty expression etching itself into his features. The billionaire's hands groped at the sofa's leather arm rest as support, voice quivering out of his lips.

"What did you say?"

Alfred sighed, "He left you a message." The elder British man revealed a folded piece of paper from the lapel of his suit.

He trudged forward, nearly ripping the letter from his hands.

The butler shook his head as his voice trembled, feeling as if he had betrayed his master. "I'm sorry, he threatened your life if I hadn't let him go..." His apology was not even heeded or noticed; Bruce staring at the handwritten letter addressing himself:

_"I apologize for the anesthesia, you might not feel too good when you wake up in a few hou_rs. _Drink water. For obvious reasons, I couldn't let you stop me. I started something, and now I have to end it once and for all. You have everything you've always needed right here. Don't be mad at the old fart, trust me. He didn't like it either. I owe you a good explanation; unfortunately, that can wait. There's something I need you to do for me. When you're dressed, visit the address on the back. - J"_

He reached up, gently touching the back of his neck where he could feel the pinprick. The letter quivered in his hand, and he swallowed the huge lump in his throat. Bruce blinked away the swelling pools in his eyes, confronting the butler. "He gave this to you for me?" He voice nearly cracked.

Alfred bowed his head down, "Yes, sir."

Bruce bit his lip, shaking his head. _Dammit, Jack... why? _He crumpled the piece of paper in his hands, moving past his elder as he headed for his bedroom.

"What are you going to do?"

The brunet man was already pulling off his tee-shirt as he sauntered up the stairs, "I'm doing what he says."

Alfred nodded, "Should I look up directions?"

* * *

By the time the third hard 'thunk' happens, the Italian glances up from checking his bank balance. He sits himself completely still, breathing becoming more shallow as he allows his senses to recognize the situation. Another loud noise finds its way to his hearing. Suddenly alert, he scoots his roll-away desk chair back, opening up one of the drawers in his office only to pull out a black pistol. Quickly flicking off the safety, he rises to his feet.

A chorus of yells erupt from the floor below him, followed by gunshots.

He flinches as each round explodes from the chambers, blood spilling upon his home turf.

Alarmed green eyes widen in recognition turning his attention to the intercom on his desk.

"Shirlena? Shirlena... are you there?"

Cursing to himself, he cocks the gun and peeks his head out of the door. "Shirlena?"

An impending feeling of doom overwhelms him, understanding the situation in its fullest. A flash of violet and green confirm his suspicions. He gasped in absolute horror, slamming the door behind him and locking himself in the office. The barrel of the gun points at the entrance as he waits. Minutes pass, no other sounds heard.

He sucked in a deep breath, a clammy sweat gathering at his temples and armpits. The Joker would waltz in, or at least try to... and he would be shot dead before he could even take a step into Falcone's room. He smiled ou, t of fear to reassure himself that he was just here for a chat.

_He could have killed me last time, so why did he not? _

_It's because he won't kill me... I am to important to him.  
_

_Right?  
_

He heard the boots romping up the wooden staircase, slow, but adamant. He swallowed the tightness in his throat, blood boiling, pulse accelerating way past its limits. The steps reached the hardwood floor, audibly wandering around the level. And then, the boots stopped, as well as Mario Falcone's heart. His fingers squeezed at the trigger, ready to pump lead into his ex lover and child.

_No... it's not a child. It's the seed of a demon. _

_A demon that has to be exorcised and cleansed.  
_

_The father, Lucifer... the fallen angel he had created would join it in Hell.  
_

Shards of brass and aluminum exploded from the mahogany door, blowing a hole the size of a grapefruit through the splinters of where the padlock used to be. The Italian mobster jumps onto his feet, barely avoiding a round as it hovered mere inches from his skull.

Both hands clamped to the cold metal, he yanked back the trigger, firing shots into the door one after one, each sending splinters in every direction. He shot until the gun clicked, locking itself in an open position.

His mouth hung agape, hands shaking... the pistol falling to his desk with a clank. Hyperventilating, he looked towards the door, it groaning at its owner's abuse. A black boot followed by its twin kicked it open, Mario staring in defeat at the Joker and his blood red smile. He strode in calmly, looking upon the remains of the Italian's entrance. He smirked.

"You didn't like that door very much, did you?"

Mario stared at him, mentally browsing through the objects in his office that could be used as a weapon. The Joker smiled again, fingering the switchblade in his pocket. He waved around a pistol in the other hand, pointing its open end at the man's chest.

"Sit."

Falcone quickly followed suit, planting himself in the office chair. He looked through the ajar, destroyed door in frustration. Nobody had come, presumable all dead.

He clutched the arms of the chair, nearly breaking the off as the Agent of Chaos crossed the room over to his elder, previous mentor. The Joker stepped behind him, pressing the switchblade against his throat. The Italian swallowed again, the knife responding with a firmer pressure, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Mario... Mario... Mario." Jack shook his head laughing, "Tell me something, _dear."_ He leaned in close, their cheeks touching- the clown's devilish grin grazing the Italian's stubble. "How... have you enjoyed fucking me all of these years, mmm?" He paused for a reply that would never be spoken.

"You've raaaaaped me-" He voice slurred the word hatefully, "Used me. Tossed me to the little pooches. And you... fucked me good and _hard._" A growl emitted from his red lips, slipping the knife away to let a trickle of blood flow.

"You agreed to it." Mario protested as the violet clad man strode around the room once more.

"Did I forget to mention... the stab wound? The 'promise' to kill me?"

He sunk further into his sear, eying the desk for anything.

"I wonder how your wife would react if she ever... found out."

That's when he spotted the same letter opener that had drawn his blood before...

* * *

Bruce Wayne stared at the address in his hands and the brass numbering at the top of the door of the small town home. He gazed around at the side of the city he had never seen. Old, rusted, and exactly the kind of place the Joker would lure him to. Somehow one of the names on the plaque outside sounded vaguely familiar.

"Sir, is everything alright?"

The young man turned around to see Alfred making his way up the stairs behind him. He smiled gently, glad someone was there for him

"Not staying with the car?"

"Not unless you'd like me to sir."

The billionaire shook his head, returning the same warm smile. "No. Thank you." Drawing in a deep breath, he knocked.

* * *

He strode around the room, circling the Italian once again with the green eyes watching him like a hawk. "I wonder what will happen with the Falcone crime family... after you and your faaaather, Maroni, The Chichen..." he snarled at the last word, dangling his knifed appendage over the crime lord's shoulder. "You failed your father's wishes, you failed your wife."

He motioned to the framed polariod on the desk, Mario gritting his teeth. "You've never done anything right."

He bit his tan lip, letting out a harsh whisper, "I made you."

Jack frowned, tangling his fingers within the black hair and yanking his head back to stare at him. "What was that?"

He gulped. "I made you."

Bursting into a fit of giggles, Jack laughed as he released the head roughly. "Oh, I'd give you credit... you-"

"You're just a freak. Nothing more than a freak."

The cool eyes bore into his own, halfway upset that he had been interrupted, the other mentally pleading for the Italian to seal his own fate.

Mario could feel rage swelling up inside of him, squeezing his fingers around the letter opener in his palm. He lunged-

"I will kill you... and that demon spawn with you!"

* * *

The worn cedar door squeaked open after two minutes of knocking, and elderly man in his late sixties standing in the doorway. He scratched at his white goatee and matching hair, squinting beneath his glasses. "Can I help you gentlemen?"

Bruce became doe-eyed and shied away, "I-I'm sorry... I think I have the wrong address."

The older man shrugged, "That depends. Are you Bruce?"

He froze at the mention of his name. "Y-yeah..."

"Bruce Wayne, eh?" He held out his hand in greeting, smiling through closed lips. Confused, the billionaire shook his hand. "I've been expecting to see you." He released, motioning towards Alfred. "Come on, come in..."

He ushered them into his house, taking a glance around before shutting the door and locking it.

He turned around, sharing a smile. "Take a seat." He offered up his sofa, snatching a few newspapers and magazines out of the way.

Bruce nodded to him in thanks.

"And I'm sorry... you are...?" He looked up cluelessly at Alfred.

The Butler exchanged a smile, "Alfred Pennyworth, sir."

He repeated the name to himself several times before lightening up once more. "Can I get either of you something to drink? I don't have much, maybe some pepsi, orange juice..."

Strangely feeling at ease, the billionaire relaxed his shoulders as he accepted the new hospitality. "Water is perfect."

Alfred and his young master exchanged uncertain looks and shrugged.

_Why was this guy important again?_

He snapped back to attention as the new host provided them with ice waters. Bruce cleared his throat, "I'm sorry... I don't think we've been introduced either."_  
_

"Oh!" He set the pitcher of water down, holding out his hand once more.

"You can call me Bill."

* * *

_That was painful to write. I've been writing in class (somehow that's always the best time to write) and this was a lot longer in handwriting. Oh well. I hope you enjoy and that you don't hate me for my absence Dx Anyways, let me know what you guys think! I need all the inspiration I can get to fully rewrite all the chapters I have lost!_


	12. Essence

**Scares We Share  
Chapter 12: Essence  
**

_Screw the part that usually goes here, I'll get to it. :) Reading over previous chapters will help this one make a lot more sense (hint, hint). Let me know what you think and please don't haaaate me Dx I love you all, there will still be more after this._

_Disclaimer: I don't own that much, I'll put a more useful disclaimer here if needed be.  
_

* * *

The two bodies collided, collapsing to the floor in a mangled heap of flesh and clothing. Mario kicked out and tossed his fists in the air at the Joker, having the letter opener pried from his vice-like fingers. Years of lounging behind an office desk and refusing to take any action in his corruption over the Gotham Italian mob scene had taken its toll over the thin, frail body of the crime lord as he struggled to attain control over the Clown Prince. The Joker had become aware of his own predicament, agility cut in half by the burden of extra weight and improper health. Attempting to toss his own weaknesses aside, he shot his bony elbow into the Italian's gut, dispersing a 'woof' of air from his lips.

He groaned on the floor biting down and holding his escaped breath. Veins and his sternal muscles pushed through his tan throat unrelenting to releasing the only weapon within his being.

"N-oo!"

He bellowed out, slashing the object blindly...

* * *

Bruce let his grip on the older man's liver-spotted hand loosen. "Bill Kane..." he repeated, knowing the name had a significance he could no longer pin-point at the time. He sighed, "My friend's told me a bit about you."

The spectacled blue eyes twinkled behind the glass. "Has he?" Bill released the billionaire. "Your friend has a big mouth."

Alfred chuckled to himself.

The old doctor stretched his back. His features changing from charitable to insight as if remembering something. "Ah.. I have something for you." He tapped a finger on his bottom lip before wandering off to another section of his home.

Bruce glanced over at his elder, uncertainty and fear washing over him once again. A cold, wrinkly hand squeezed his. His attempt to smile faded as he wondered if he would ever see the blonde boy, Jack, ever again. The past night had fought its way to the top of his memories before as his hatred for the Joker quelled deep within in alter-ego's buried mind.

Why had he helped him that night?

What made him concerned for the Joker's well being?

He battled with the questions that arose from his conscious, desperate in finding an answer he could no longer remember. That night, he bet his life as Bruce Wayne, rolling the dice for another chance at his own ever-expanding life of adventures.

_Is that what I miss most?_

_The thrill of being Batman?  
_

Had he used the Joker as a crutch in hopes his heroic stance would be reclaimed?

He searched for the explanation that wracked his troubled mind.

_He told you everything..._

_He let you take care of him...  
_

_You...  
_

_Kissed him.  
_

Subconsciously, he traced his fingertips over his dry lips; the warmth and tingle from the night before still lingering upon them. The Joker's blood red grin and blackened eyes rushed in at him, the white grease paint wet upon the lightly freckled skin and blond pieces peeking through the temporary green color. He saw himself standing in front of the violet clad man, seeing his earpieces highlight the Batman's figure in his shadow below.

A speck of red splattered on the pavement.

Followed by another, and another...

He found himself searching his body for wounds as the blood continued to drip like rain in front of him.

Until he looked into the smile and found that it was not blood, as white and black drops began to spill too followed by a swampy moss color that too collected into a muddy puddle at his feet. It was not bleeding, it was melting... The soft golden curls cascaded around the tanned skin hanging loosely above his shoulders. Pink lips pulled into a small grin accentuated by naked scars running the length of his cheeks. Bruce looked up through his Batman cowl and into the warm gaze that belonged to Jack Napier.

His thoughts dead ended as the daydream vanished away from his subconscious and found himself at the only sensible solution. The billionaire's deep brown eyes glistened as they welled up once more. He had found himself unconditionally in _love _with the Joker.

Bill Kane reentered the living room space with a manilla envelope in his right hand.

Bruce quickly regained his composure, standing as it was offered to him. The possible contents of the envelope sent his adrenaline pumping fast through his veins. He could feel the truth, and the end of all of his adventures beckoning to him within the piece of paper. The old doctor noticed the hesitation and drew in a heavy breath of air.

"He wrote me a letter a few months ago_, _after he had left Arkham..." He sighed, "He told me that everything you would ever need to know was in there. I'm not sure what it says, but I have a hunch." He shrugged his shoulders as his familiar smile returned, dropping it within the billionaire's hands.

The folder had his name written on top in red ink.

"There was... one more thing he wanted you to see..." He trailed off in his thoughts leaving a stricken Bat and his butler in the room to venture back into the shadows of his home. They could hear him shout, "He may not always have a plan, but Jack's pretty damn good at improvising!"

Hesitant, he bit on his lip, unfolding the envelope and revealed the single sheet of paper scribbled upon.

_"The man you see in front of you is Dr. Bill Kane PHD, retired. I've told you many things but I may have not mentioned them all. He is my oldest friend and the reason I'm still breathing. The journey has been rather rocky, wouldn't you say? I have to admit, I was never fully prepared for the turn of events these past few weeks. It's time you knew the truth. I could not reveal everything to you, it would jeopardize everything! I needed your trust after you agreed to help me. As previously stated, I've gone to finish what should have never been started. The child I had given birth to... was never my first pregnancy. The child wasn't given a chance. Falcone took care of it rashly. Dumb, and preoccupied with past events I had allowed it once more. He will never touch me again. And my return is weighing upon the thread that is needed to be cut..._

* * *

A deep breath of air was forcefully expelled from the Joker's lungs as the rubber sole of Mario's shoes managed to deliver a strong blow to his chest, momentarily sparing the Italian a chance at the upper-hand. _  
_

His hand rushes to his side where he can feel the moist hot trickle once again reopen from the stress and tension that held his battered body together. The Italian may have lacked a weapon, but his fists legs more than made up for it as he gained the dominance over the injured clown and his rage. He had been the teacher of each fight and quarrel, being able to read each movement the Joker made before they crept up on him.

_Your only weakness, Jack... _

_Is that you barely pay attention!  
_

His bony knuckles cracked into the side of melted-grease paint temple, sending purple and yellow splotches clouding his vision. He stumbled to the floor, fresh blood oozing from in between his fingers on the bulletwound. Mario was upon him in less than a second, tearing the weapons from his coat and hands, pointing the pistol right into the black-rimmed eyes.

The Joker laughed as he rolled upon the staining rug underneath him. "Is that all?"

The Italian's expression barely twitched as he cocked the gun, staring the clown right in the cold, dark gaze. He hated to admit it... his body killed, throbbing from every impact, his vision hazy and unfocused. An iron fist smashed into the right side of his face, taking with it a layer of grease paint, followed by another... and another until he could hear Jack groan from the repeated impacts into his already swelling face.

He attempted a chuckle, when he felt cold steel press against his head, ready to die.

Jack swallowed the thick bubble in his throat, and opened his venomous eyes, letting the Italian take in the last image he would ever see of the madman. Through blood-stained lips and teeth, he grinned. "You're too late."

Mario sneered, "I'm not late for anything, there's always time to kill you..."

The Joker flinched as he felt a hand run down his sides and wander into the openings of his indigo shirt. "I won't kill you yet... I want you to watch as I carve that thing from you and break its neck! Then, then... you will be left here to die."

He stopped struggling against the dark haired man as his shirt was ripped open, sending buttons flying. He trembled, hatred and wrath boiling past its limits when a hot tongue lapped its way from his chest to his exposed throat, feeling the tip of his very own switchblade trace its way down his sternum. The tan skin split open, bubbling specks of blood on his breast. At the flick of his wrist, Mario sliced the six-inch blade across his diaphragm...

Jack did not like to show pain, even in his weakest moments and many encounters with death, he would shy away or cover it up with a silly fit of laughter. He clenched his teeth together, screaming through the curled back lips.

Deep red blood seeped from the inch wide incision running the length of his right pec, down the ribs and ending above his hip bone, a nine inch surface cut into the stretched flesh.

_"...The night you came for me... played out a little more differently than what I had originally told you..."_

Was... he... laughing?

The Italian stared in disbelief, "What's so funny, huh?"

The Joker ran his bloody palm over his swollen middle, grinning wide as he watched Mario's green eyes follow.

"You... you already have..."

_"...I was the one who called 9-11." _

_He pushed through the crowd of goons, hunching over to disguise the prominent stomach and keeping a satchel close to his side. He checked the time on his cell phone, taking the back entrance of the abandoned night club. The cool air greeted him, leveling out his sweaty skin and labored breaths. It was almost time. He dropped the heavy, worn green bag, buying himself a moment to have a cigarette. _

_"There are still several things in my life which you will never know, some that will be taken to my unmarked grave. I knew I could never take upon the burden of having a child in the chaotic world we live in. Until that night... its safety and fate had been carefully planned out."  
_

_He stretched his back, tossing the satchel as well as many other duffel bags into the parked, black car. Paranoid, he took another quick look around as the minutes ticked by. Almost there. He flashed a blood red grin, picking out his weapon of choice from his coat pockets as he re-entered the club...  
_

_"That day would have been the last anyone would see of the Joker... I was wrong. And then, you came. I don't know why you listened to me, you stupid bastard. I was seconds away from calling out Gordon and his dogs, at least they would find the child a safe home... but you saved me."_

* * *

He heard the bare feet of Bill Kane once again saunter awkwardly into the living room, spotting Alfred stand from out of his peripheral.

_"I'm not thanking you for my life... I'm thanking you for changing it and allowing all the freedom in the world. There exists a Light in everyone... through your journey in this lifetime, you will find it as have I. We are given a gift, the gift to touch, feel, smell, see, hear, hate, and love. I found life, in the most beautiful green eyes_...

_They say, the innocents Light is the brightest, enough to shatter even the Darkest Knights..." _

He came to the end of the page, choking back a thick ball of an eternity of emotions welling up inside of him. He flipped over the piece of paper, reading one line. "_The eyes are the windows to the soul._" His lips twitched, staring at the words before him… a 'plick' of a single tear falling onto the letter of the man he was sure he would never see again.

The old man nudged Bruce's shoulder with his elbow. "I think someone wants to see you."

The billionaire laughed out of freedom of emotion, shaking his head. He turned to the doctor, "Listen… I…"

"Say hello."

Bruce glanced down…and froze.

_Tears ran freely down the scarred cheeks as he fell forward into the soft, comforting bed sheets, curling his body around the tiny thing pulled close to his beating chest, carefully stroking the matte of feathery light hair upon its head. For the first time in his life, despite the permanent scars engraved upon his face and his most popular feature, the smile that plastered itself upon his weary face was genuine. In fact, he could not find himself to stop smiling through the mess of tears and melting grease paint. He rocked back and forth, swooning.  
_

_"I found... life."  
_

In this moment of disbelief and anguish, he found two glittering orbs of green staring right up at him. Wrapped within a lavender wool blanket laid in Bill's arms was a tiny morsel, barely even a month old. The infant clenched its white little fists, yawning a toothless grin at him. The truth overwhelmed him, finding it extremely difficult to stay on his feet.

His limbs trembled as the child was placed into his quaking arms, suddenly quelled by its warmth and heartbeat upon its chest. The tiny, innocent thing soothed everything in his being, the sour pit in his stomach ebbing away, the weakness in his limbs rejuvenating as he looked into the emerald eyes.

_His weakness, he ignored. The throbbing pain, a distant twitch. His body, empty. His heart, fulfilled. He chuckled quietly to himself, disbelieving the moments that had played out perfectly and finding it impossible to think about anything else, but the tiny hand that softly gripped his finger. _

Bill Kane smiled softly as he watched the two bond, "Jack brought her here, an hour after she was born."

Bruce repeated, "She?"

The little being rested in his embrace, her little eyes fluttering closed in comfort. Sandy blonde hair feathered the top of her head, her pink skin flawless and scarless. Within his strong arms lay a miracle, a little angel radiating a golden halo that sent a giddy shiver down his frame.

"She's… beautiful!"

He pinched away tears and laughed, "He really did it, huh?"

"Yes, son. He did."

Bill Kane patted the billionaire's shoulder, allowing them time together.

_Let's just hope you make it home again, too... _


	13. The Ninth Circle of Hell

**Scars We Share**

**Hell  
**

****_Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Bill Kane... don't hate me :) _

* * *

"Where is it?!"

"Nehh-"

"WHERE IS IT?!"

"Ah…!"

"WHERE IS IT?" Mario roared, the livid Italian's tan skin darkening to a savage red, his hair poking out of every miniscule follicle, his bloodshot eyes and largely gritted teeth imprinting his vile image into Jack's weakening brain. Jack clenched his jaw tight as to not show his agony, his cheek bone cracking under each blow of Mario's knuckles. He wafted a red-speckled rush of air through his bloody lips, tasting the coppery tang of his own liquid life draining in his throat.

The Italian's wrath accumulated like magma ready to explode from the cone of a long dormant volcano. The Joker took in each blow to his body, unable to weigh out the pain from the knife wounds to his skull ready to split into two.

_Every… second… counts. _

The heavy boots pressed harder upon his shackled wrists, sending numb and throbbing tingles down each of his arms as Jack found he could no longer move his limbs. He spat out a crimson froth and the cap of a loosened tooth given the break from Mario's bruising knuckles. _Get up…. Get up! _His mind screamed at himself, futile, as he found that his body refused the actions.

The dark tunnel inside of the gunmetal barrel stared at him, like an old friend… waiting.

"You'll never find it, even if you kill me."

The enraged man shook his head in skepticism. "You're dead already."

The Joker stretched his neck, swallowing down his leaking bloodstream, his precaution about his own life already pushed out of his mind. His fear remained impractical, sending daggers through his lips each time he spoke. "Then why am I alive right now?"

He found his answer as his battered body was flipped over, his face burying into the damp carpet while Mario mounted his straining back. The long, icy fingers burned into his skin as they removed more layers of his clothing, his breath halting as he realized the Italian was pulling his trousers off. No! _He wasn't going to let that happen again! _

"You need to be _punished_…"

The unscarred devil smile widened as the crime lord's prey struggled more, Jack beginning to hyperventilate against the rough carpet fibers as the prodding tendrils scraped over his hips pulling the band of his underwear with it. His entire body trembled weakly, hoping that the blood loss would steal his consciousness before the Italian had a chance at enjoying his prey tussle.

Mario's hardened member pushed through the layers of his clothing, grinding his hips against Jack's backside. "You like that, you little whore?" He hissed into the clown's ear, who remained a drone… an empty shell.

"Answer me!" He brought the side of the pistol down into the side of Jack's head, barely even earning a flinch.

His arms felt as if they had been ripped from their sockets, pulled behind his back in a painful, raw-rubbing restraint of makeshift handcuffs, the throbbing in his midsection never weakening. He had attempted to see, only to find spots of yellow and violet cloud out anything somewhat visible. He wanted to throw up when he realized his bare body was exposed to the self-inviting Italian, the fiery bile rising up his throat and threatening to expel itself from his grinding teeth.

"You will like this."

_No_…

An invading, bloody palm cupped the front of his manhood, attempting to shy away from the gesture and hard fingers willing him to cooperate.

_No_!

The Italian's skinny hip bones pushed against his backside, gently sliding his pants down to his knees until his pounding member positioned itself for Mario's final copulation.

He wished all the pain away, wished that his entire body would be numb. The acidic bile rose in the back of his throat, his form heaving and gagging in trifling spasms. Given his last minute surge of power, he tensed as the Italian moved himself in between his legs, and snapped his teeth within the unforgiving fibers of the rug.

_I'm sorry, Bruce…_

The world faded black, his mind shutting down as he was entered…

* * *

The old man stared into the numbers on his cellphone, the time passing too quickly for his liking, without any word from the Joker. He almost debated calling the madman, then noting that he did not know the phone number or any other indicating, personal aids about him. The man just seemed to come and go as he pleased, showing up whenever deemed appropriate and leaving at the most demanding of times. He rolled his eyes, drawing in a deep breath.

_Jack, please come home. _

_Please hold your daughter one more time…_

He watched as Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth slumped in the living room couch together, admiring each detail about the snoozing little baby in the billionaire's lap.

_You have a family here, waiting for you with open arms. _

_A family that loves you, no matter how many scars and trepidations you have had. _

Over the years and the small time they had spent together, Bill Kane had always been fond of the scarred, blonde boy and his incredibly strong will and drive. He never had children before in his lifetime, and strangely never liked the idea of having a family and a nagging wife, paying for children to go to school for eighteen years of their life. Taking care of the boy was voluntary on his part, and even though he never recognized himself as a father figure, Jack was his estranged son.

He rubbed the dead skin off of his lips and fiddled with the antennae on his cell phone. He cared about the boy behind the makeup and scars, even when he was sure he would never see Jack after he had left the Falcone's. He wanted the boy to know care, love, and family… he begged the heavens every night that the Joker would eventually set him free.

Bill Kane felt the muscles in his throat tightening.

The gifted boy was something else, and nearly blamed Jack for the new mop of white hair on his head. He glanced down at his cellphone again. 4:30pm. He was already an hour late.

G_od, Jack… I hope you're taking care of that yuppie Falcone… _

He turned the volume up on the side of the phone, setting it down on the coffee table to join the other men.

* * *

Mario threw his head of raven hair back, a vibratory moan traveling up and out his parting lips as he continued to defile the Joker underneath him, blood and precum covering their partially naked bodies. Jack was going to pay for everything he had done, and the family and friends that had most likely died at his violet clad hands. Oh, yes… he would pay and he would beg to die before Falcone even granted him the reprieve of death.

As he thrust himself away, the warmth of the blood and bare back was oddly cold.

"Hey!"

He grabbed Jack's shoulder, turning him over slightly to see expression melted from the clown's assaulted face. The grease paint rubbed off on the carpet, revealing his most human qualities that hung slack.

"You cannot die on me yet!"

His fist embedded itself within Jack's shoulder. He watched for any movement, continuing his pace in and out of the boy's body.

His consciousness had escaped….

…within the ninth circle of Hell.

_Gotham…_

…_ceased to exist._

_The swirling monsoon of charcoal clouds churned overhead. A clash of thunder rattles the heavens and earth. The maelstrom hovered in from the east, having followed the detonation in an iron-oxide colored harmattan that was headed straight for the city!_

_A mouse grey flurry of 'snow' carpeted the metropolis, raining down the remains of the tallest building. Shards of the mirror paneled windows collected at the icy ground below, trapping its victims under thousands of pounds of concrete and shrapnel. Within a single flash of light, the apocalyptic atmosphere mesmerized the thousands crowding the center of the city. They had been too late to comprehend the massive assault, many staring into the blinding sphere of energy. _

_The lucky ones had died with the first shock wave, shattering windows for miles and tossing every living thing to the ground as their mangled from the inside out bodies choked upon their own blood before the magnification of the "sun's" rays liquefied flesh from bone, bubbling away what little remain of the residents of Gotham city._

_The fireball rose miles into the dawn sky, blanketing the island in a veil of the inferno. Lightning bugs fell from the sky above; their burning wings letting them plummet to the scorched earth below. _

_He couldn't breathe. He gasped for oxygen as nearly everything ignited around him, even himself. His lungs transformed into tissue paper, coughing through the blistering throat. _

_The fire upon his skin did not burn. It sizzled his flesh away until only minced meat hung from his humerus. He would scream, had he been able to contract his larynx. _

_He fell to the winter ground, the cool ice bringing relief to his burning body. The man rolled himself over on his back to stare up at the Hell around him. The fireflies kept falling, followed by a chorus of thousands of souls waking to the new found Armageddon that was once the beautiful Gotham City. Their cries and screams rang in his ruptured ear drums, a result of the initial impact. And he realized… the fireflies were human once, too. They jumped out of the windows of the collapsing building._

_His body writhed in agonizing spasms upon seeing exactly which building it was…_

_Wayne Tower._

_The incinerating frame of the 'W' snapped free of its supports, the three-hundred pound molten steel casing falling to the depths. _

_The human meteors continued to spill from the blood red clouds, a dark figure silhouetted in the blaze as the explosion continued to grow. The creature's massive wings cut through the fire with precision, catching the tattered ends of its black feathers in a blaze of fire and smoke. The grotesque hell-bent servant of the devil glided around the crumbling buildings screeching in anguish._

_His dry lips could only mouth one word in his last gasp of breath, soot and debris carpeting the inside of his body. "Bat…man…" _

_The demon's horns confirmed his suspicions as it too… burst into flames and spiraled into the ground. _

_He tried to scream, finding his voice gone. No…! NO! _

_The insignia of the popular Wayne Tower had landed upside-down into an "M"; he stared at it until his burning eyes flooded blurry tears. _

_The toxic, black haze rained soot from the heavens,as it would eventually bury him and every resident of the City of Death in two feet of ashes. Gotham City was dead. He had drawn his last breath. He was dead. Batman was dead. His tainted black brain fired off its last surges of power knowing his only option was to succumb to the relaxing embrace of the Grim Reaper. _

_Through the Inferno, he knew all too well its cold presence. Its lanky black form stood a hundred meters away, and yet he could find the thousands of red pained souls within its hollow, cylindrical eye sockets, each fluttering, each screaming… _

_Its knobby, rotten bones wrapped around the scythe, dripping blood from the end of its curved blade. Jack could feel it grinning right at him, and pointed a bony finger… _

_He followed the apparition's indication, knowing the moment he had was a mistake. Its laughter filled his pierced eardrums, reverberating in and out of his skull, the agonizing pain twisted inside his gut as he looked a few feet past his blistered finger tips…_

_Its beady, black eyes smiled back at him accentuated by the tattered remains of red floss making up its lips. The dark buttons melted under the conflagration, yellow yarn hair singed to its last strand on the doll's head. Its infantry cries swelled his head, wracking his mind as every soul he had ever taken sang akin to the wraiths and banshees transforming his consciousness into a prison. _

_He could not scream, could not breathe… he reached for the doll, his fingertips set ablaze by an unseen fire. Please…. Please… _

_Black plastic tears dripped down its face, the cries growing stronger._

_No!_

_As he dragged himself along the hot coals and brimstone ground zero the blanket wrapped around the effigy came into his view. The yellow-white bones pierced from his finger beds, jutting out of his body as he continued on his journey through Hell. The flesh melted from his bones until his hand became identical to that of the hooded supernal beings'. The golden "W" emblem caught his eye… _

_His chest heaved in spasms, sobs caught within his suffocating lungs._

_Bruce…_

_He wished the Reaper to come, the gatekeeper appearing in a black mist at his side like a loyal servant. Jack Napier gazed up at it, its black sickle dripping the blood of the innocents. 'Am I dead?'_

_The Angel of Death smiled._

_Gazing overhead, the clouds had stopped moving… the fires frozen in place. He could breathe, every single cell within in body given a last reprieve at life. His chapped lips struggled to form words, "Why am I here?" _

_He earned no answer, trembling and stood finding that the pain had ceased as well. He looked to his arm, tendrils of flesh and tendons, blood and ligaments covering his skeleton once again. He shook his arm to make sure, and peered around at the new Hell that was Gotham. "You killed me…" Jack swallowed, looking to the remains of Wayne Tower. "You killed him." _

_It said nothing. _

"…_And you killed my child!" He snatched up a piece of shrapnel next to his feet, swinging the two-foot piece of steel at the being. _

_Death smiled, opening its arms to its cold embrace. Jack pierced through the apparition with ease, the black figure mocking him. _

_He fell to the ground, immediately drowning in a river of blood and entrails. He gagged, pushing himself above the manifested surface of the river Styx. Hands and appendages grabbed at his body and moaned their last words into his ear. _

"_You."_

"_Joker!"_

"_You."_

"_You…"_

"_Jack Napier…"_

"_You, Jack." _

"…_YOU."_

_He spat up a fountain of blood, screaming. "I killed them! I KILLED THEM!" _

"_Yes…" the Reaper hissed. _

'_They're going to die because of me… because of-'_

_He met the Grim Reaper's fluttering gaze, its knobby hand held out to him. The devil smiled. "Yes." _

_Mario…_

_A guttural roar erupted inside of him, threatening to tear the city from the rest of its splintering foundation, the heat blasting his back with a great white explosion of pain. Jack reached towards the offering, entwining his fingers within the skeletal hand.  
_

…_Whisking his consciousness out of Hell._

* * *

I decided to get a little graphic and take a real step into the mind of Jack Napier. What will happen next chapter? We will just have to see! And is Gotham really in ashes? You'll find out...


	14. The 10th Circle of Hell, Ego

**PART II: Transformation**

A/N: First and foremost, I am so sorry I have been absent from writing! My excuses can vary, however this time I decided to transform a little bit of myself before I could write this portion from experiences and overcoming ones own trepidations. I really have no idea how to explain it other than what you will read following this message. How you perceive it, is your own and there is no right or wrong way that it is read. And what do I mean by PART TWO? Well, you will see very soon!

Warning: Terror, maybe some offensive themes, mpreg, (slight sci-fi) or whichever you could call it. Oh and lots of violence and blood. Ya..

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters belonging to DC or the Nolan-verse._

* * *

His eyes shot open after minutes of deprivation of light, finding tiny fibers in the abused rug, his own ruby blood reflecting off of the miniscule hairs. His chest heaved in gulps of oxygen feeding through his asphyxiated lungs. The consciousness that was Jack Napier awoke…

…white flashes erupted in his revelation, a searing pain in his backside where Mario thrust into his body held his consciousness to reality.

_I..._

_I saw… I saw Wayne Manor fall… Bruce and my…_

He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing.

_And they're going to… because of him. _

_Because of Mario!_

His breath was stolen from him; he gulped for air.

"_No." The low voice chilled his bones. _

His head was pressed to the soggy carpet, and he pried his eyes over to the far side of the room.

The supernal being materialized itself in wisps of black smoke in the corner of the office, and lowered its dripping scythe bowing to Jack. His dark chocolate eyes widened in horror as he recognized the being, its lengthy black tendrils of silk rushing at him. The world caved in on him, images shaking from their foundations in his metaphysical cognizance. It consumed him.

The thunderous noise of Wayne Tower collapsing roared in his ears like a nearby freight train, its ashes covering the cold ground.

He could see the sparks through the black clouds, spinning like a tornado around him.

His insides contracted, the world around enwrapping him in waves of nausea. He was going to be sick.

Then a cry of an infant, the twinkles of the beady black eyes.

The world flashed a bright light.

The soft yarn on his fingertips…

Another heartbeat…

_He leaned his head back upon the headboard of the billionaire's bed breathing a heavy sigh of relief, cradling the newborn within his arms against his warm chest. They would rest for the next half hour, allowing the child its first meal and Jack much needed resting time. His palm cupped her tiny head and stroked the feathery blonde hairs with his fingers. The child was breathtaking, and a symbol to himself of the innocence he had lacked. He watched her, and imagined the years he would spend with her, all the memories they would share together._

_She had barely even cried at the first breath of life and now lay content and satisfied upon her father's breast. Pools welled up within his burning eyes as their bond grew, and attempted to control his heaving form from sobbing. _

_He squeezed his eyes shut, pinching away tears under the realization of how much he wanted to be a father. _

_Tear drops trickled down the indentations on his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth; he drew in a heavy breath of air, knowing it would be the only time he would have with her. How much he wished the Joker could simply just vanish so he could have a second chance at life, and be the good Jack Napier with a family and…_

_Love._

_His form sobbed out when the word entered his mind. The baby cooed and licked its rosy lips, wondering what had interrupted its parent and blindly groped around Jack's chest and sternum with its curled tiny fingers. Oh how he had already found himself in love with his daughter, and how hard the decisions had become. _

_Jack stroked her face lightly with his thumb, and she held on with her tiny fist. He leaned in and brushed his soft lips against her forehead, and drew back. "I'm sorry."_

The memory dissolved within the inky drapes of the Reaper's cloak, the specter standing above the graveyard.

Watching.

And waiting.

Jack lay suspended at its feet, staring into the crevice-like eye sockets. He parted his dry lips, whispering as his voice cracked. "Don't kill it…"

The being tilted its draped skull.

His chest heaved. "I know you can hear me…" He drew in heavy breaths, faster. "LISTEN TO ME!" The Joker snarled at the Reaper, his desperation flooding in his weary eyes. He fought his common sense in desperation, believing this was not his end.

"You're not real."

Its horrid yellow dentures did not move; its unspoken voice resounded through Jack's vibrating eardrums. "_I am real." _

It howled with laughter, the baby's cries becoming louder.

"No…! Stop!"

He could hear the Italian's hooting and the candy apple red blood that speckled a white cradle.

"STOP!"

"_You have the power to stop it all. A life for a life." _

Jack panted on the ground, his thoughts spilling out of his lips habitually, "Why is this happening to me…? Who are you?"

"_You know who I am." _The familiar voice echoed within his consciousness, drawing his ego nearer to the surface. The satin black garments dissolved around the hooded figure's stance, Jack's glistening eyes following up the skeletal frame as it grew flesh and a horribly scarred red grin.

A brackish blood dripped from creases of its lips, baring its yellow teeth in a sardonic grin at Jack.

Dread ceased the young man's thumping heart; it laughed at him in his ever familiar cackle. _"'Who are you?'" _It mocked at him.

The troubled man covered his ears with his palms, trying to escape from his own venomous words. His knees buckled, bringing him to the ground.

"_Kill them… and then you will be free." _

The apparition dispersed into the air with a cool breeze that whipped at his partially exposed face. He was back in the office again with his face pushed into the floor. Jack gasped at the sudden sensation of his invaded body, peeking through his elbow to see the Falcone crime lord deep within his being. The pain rushed in again with the head of Mario's girth stabbing his core until his own blood lubricated the depredation.

He sealed his lips shut and tried his hardest to not contract his larynx. Mario did not need to hear his prey's cries and moans.

Mario Falcone noticed his victim pry himself from the undead with an awfully disguised yelp of pain. "Hey, you're still among the living?" He spanked his hand against Jack's bare thigh, earning a glare over his shoulder. "When you gonna die, eh? I'm starting to get a little worn out."

"As soon as you stop fucking me." Jack growled, and pulled his lips into a taut smile to egg on the Italian. "Have you checked on your wife yet?" He licked his lips and laughed when Mario's fist came down on his face again…

The Italian howled a deep cry out of his lips when a pair of knives diagonally shanked into his unprotected flanks as the Joker kicked his feet down, ejecting the concealed weapons through the soles of his shoes. A kick to his chest caused Mario Falcone to tumble backwards in a splatter of blood. The Joker quickly covered himself with his clothing and grasped onto the adrenaline rush with his life.

Mario was tossed against his mahogany desk, blinking the blur and drops of blood away from his eyelids only in time to see the Joker on him in an instant. Cool metal pressed against his throat.

_He still… hasn't…_

"Go ahead. Kill me, it won't do anything. It won't change who you've become, you monster. You… freak." He spat a froth of blood on the clown, knowing it had sealed his fate.

Jack nodded his head, moving the edge of the knife into the Italian's mouth. He spoke with his natural tone, bearing his cold brown eyes. "Yes, I am… a monster you created." He brushed his lips up to his ex mentor's ear, whispering. "You should have spared us when you had the chance."

Mario gasped for air, "Wh-what about my family…? What did you do to them?!"

"The same thing you did to mine."

The Italian's green eyes widened in utter horror as the blade pushed into his body. His tan skin split under the pressure of the razor sharp blade, the knife dragging along up to his ear and swiping at his cheeks until the Joker was satisfied at the blood gushing out of the agape carvings he had made. Mario's lips sputtered, attempting to speak through his torn mouth.

"Puh… th…."

"What was that babe?" The Joker grabbed the sides of his face and pulled the Italian in close. His last breaths exhaled onto his red lips, and the clown did something he would hope haunt the man into his after life. He pulled their lips together in a crimson stained kiss, twisting his knife in Falcone's gut until the breath was cut short.

The dark green eyes fogged over, his pupils dilating in the dark, black kohl-ed eyes, the last things he would ever see. Jack licked a stain of blood off of his ex-lover's lower lip. "Have fun in hell."

The man once known as Mario Falcone was dead.

He stared at the still form, waiting to feel any sort of relief, joy or accomplishment. He was silent as his life began to end itself, knowing he was burying his life with the deceased Italian. Jack pushed himself off of the still form of the late crime lord, wiping the blood off his mouth with his sleeve as a familiar chill shuddered his spine.

"And you…" He snarled through his blood stained teeth to the apparition behind him.

The Reaper grinned at him.

"It's your time to go." Jack said, limping his weak body to his duffle bag.

"_You have not yet…"_

"I told you." The Joker interrupted, removing a tube of white face paint from the zipper. "It's all part of a plan."

* * *

_"9-11, what's your emergency?"_

_"Pl-please help! Help me please…!" A woman sobbed onto the phone to the dispatch._

_"Yes, I am going to try to. Where are you located?"_

_"Um… 3273 Terrace Way… please help…! He killed them—he killed them all!"_

_"Ma'am, please calm down… are you in a safe area?"_

_"I'm in my house… I'm locked in the cellar, he locked me in here—he might be trying to kill me…!"_

_"Ma'am, I have officers on their way right now-"_

_"He killed them, and he could be trying to kill me!"_

_"Yes, I know, I'm sending help…"_

_"No, he'll kill me… he already killed my family!" The woman trailed off in crackles of static, her form heaving in big gulps of air as she cried._

_"Who is trying to kill you?"_

_"Th… The Joker!"_

* * *

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing

-"Hello?" Bill Kane snatched the cellphone off of his table in a heartbeat after recognizing the numbers appear on led screen.

"Kane… I'm here…"

"Jack…?" The elder man gasped. "Boy, am I glad to hear from you!"

"Kane… is Bruce there?"

"He's here…" Kane panted out in relief of hearing the young man's voice, catching the attention of the billionaire in the room. "It's Jack."

Bruce pushed himself off the couch, his veins pumping adrenaline through his very core. Kane offered the phone to him, the billionaire drawing in a breath of hesitation. He looked to the elder's soft blue eyes. He nodded, and Bruce held the phone to his ear.

"Bruce…?"

He bit his lip at the sound of Jack, and nodded. _"Yeah… its me." _

"Listen, Bruce…" Jack smirked his lips and laughed gently. "I need a ride."

"_Whatever you need me to do…" _

Jack stood on his feet erectly whilst fastening black pants around his waist, taking his eyes away from the corpse of Falcone. He dropped the bag over his shoulders onto the hardwood floor, exiting the room and leaving the phantom of his past locked away forever.

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
